


i feel like we've kissed before

by bambamboozles, theholychesse



Series: something, everything is wrong [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Earth AU, F/F, F/M, M/M, On Haitus, Slow Burn, Slow Everything, not dead just Slow, originally an rp that got us thinking 'lets waste even more time with this verse and make it a fic', superhero au, we're in for the long haul, we're unapologetic, well loosely one at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5019844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bambamboozles/pseuds/bambamboozles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theholychesse/pseuds/theholychesse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark and Nina.  False names, but utterly theirs. They were tiny little fat cheeked children with piercing voices and watery blue eyes. When they held me, I felt in love. When their mother and mine, in all but blood, told us to always be together; we were. Together even in war. War was ours, up until the gentle attentions of flame took it all. I had wanted to save them, but I’d done barely anything before being tossed into the fire (332th). I felt flesh slide off my bones, flames slurp my crimson marrow, immolate my thrumming heart, and steam my cursed blood. </p><p>I lived. Lived like I always did and was clad in the prison of the flesh and of the albicant room. Until a man killed his dog, his wife, and himself. Helga, Victor, and Ebba were left with bleeding holes in their skulls and I headed East. This is where I met a Persian who could kiss space goodnight, a Slav who could pat the matter betwixt realms into serenity, and a mushroom cloud soon loomed over me as I held a boy’s hand until the light popped out of his eyes. Around and around, I was drawn to meet Hope, Rage, Life, Mind, so many of them... </p><p>One day, my teeth shook and my nails trembled on a bus somewhere in Eastern America. I felt the tug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I desire unity

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, as it's eloquently stated in the tags, this originally came from an RP. This shines through the pacing of this and much of the paragraph layout, however, we have done our best to spruce it up. 
> 
> However, as the RP is ongoing, we only have a basic idea where this is going, and we both have warring desires for how we want this to end, so keep that in mind in the future. Edits of foreshadowing and edits in general over the story will be numerous as we update this universe and it's events. 
> 
> Archive warnings won't be given even though they will apply. We'll instead give warnings in an authors note for a chapter and will point out particularly triggery material with an asterisk or something of the kind.
> 
> Please express criticism and support for this fic for at least one of us is a very needy, desperate creature.
> 
> The other has no idea what they are doing and who all you people are, but would like a high-five.

(2009)

 It’s starting to get dark. While it isn’t opaque ink crawling over the horizon, it is a shadow. It gently slides down from the sun and lazily crawls to make the blue sky shimmer with tints of gold. It is not so hot as to make the creepy crawlies underfoot cry, but enough to cause people to covet the blast of a breeze or the coolness of their own homes. The grass sways and the people can be heard sighing. The summer is coming to a close.

 Over on the end of the street is a park where open mouths chatter and bare knees brush against each other. The children’s knuckles are dusted with dirt and their pants are dyed green from smothered plants. They are spread out in groups holding hands, kicking rubber balls, a sniffle by the slides which no one pays attention to dwells alongside the exclamations of jokes and resounding giggles. Everyone exists together and yet, one little boy sits all alone.

 He’s in the sandpit. Absentmindedly, he lets the sand trickle through his fingers and repeats the motion till satisfied. He moves on to the swings, but avoids getting too close to the other kids. Even when he moves to try the slide he doesn’t interact with any of them. But everywhere he walks he does smile. As if a gaggle is pressing into his space at all times. He doesn’t ever seem sad, or distressed, or discouraged by the empty space being his sole companion.

 He’s an alien. Other kids seem to know it too. He’s largely ignored. The exception being when children come to ask him random questions about who he is, but every time he answers and says nothing more they leave. Back, to their own friends, own groups, leaving the new kid to entertain himself.

 But not anymore, not anymore, someone vows.

 Another lonesome boy is in that same crowded playground. His heartbeat drills a self-portrait into his bird-thin ribs as he scans the park. He catalogs a crimson slide with painted-on rust wings, green swings with teal accents, a sandbox full of forgotten toys and covered in leaves, but not _his_ boy and he continues frantically when his attention is drawn by black messy hair.  He can see the boy is a bit away from the park now, but still on the grass. Curiosity is woven into that child’s very skin and as he watches the other boy peer down at the insects crawling under foot. He prods little ants with twigs and leaves, and scrunches his nose up when he sees them with other little bugs on their backs. It's then that the wind whips up the boy’s hair, ruffling the fluff like a fond mother.

 The watching boy’s breath catches in his throat. It’s _John_. It’s John, JohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohn, and when his desperate lungs force him to breath once again he shoots out of sight. He counts to ten, before opening his eyes, and looks down at himself. He’s scrawny, bruised, and he’s bleeding from a slowly mending nick in his lip. He looks exactly like a street urchin. The filth on him making his skin darker and dirty grime coating his too-big tattered clothes. 

 It’s awkward to move around in pants that make him trip every two minutes and his shoes certainly don’t help in that respect so he abandons them. He is only in a shirt, it sags down past his knees. It could pass for a dress on the dirtiest little girl in the world. There’s some wetness in his eye, more than some, it is there apace with rawness and heat. He furiously rubs it all out before raising his head and goddamn _going_.

 He’s not sure if John ( _becauseithastobejohn)_ can see him: filthy, small, and course. But he sees _him_ and his pace quickens as he reaches out. Throwing caution to the wind he needs to know if it really _is_ him and not someone _else,_ (iloveyouiloveyoupleaselovemetoo) but when his fingers land on the boy’s skin there is the _spark._

 _Fuck_ , he’s ready to cry now and he doesn’t care what it looks like to John. He’s so fucking happy, but he needs to talk, “Hey.” The knot in his throat tightens, “What’s, wh-what’s your n-name?”

 John, _his John,_ startles.  This must be so very strange and like a little rabbit, he jumps back from the grasp on his arm and trips over his own feet just as the darker boy speaks. A squeak escapes out of the fallen boy before he lands on his rump. John looks up at the other boy and replies with an over exaggerated enunciation, “ _Ow._ ”

 The boy, still standing, with bruises spiraling up his arms to his throat, blinks down at John. John is attempting to adjust his glasses and peers up with a miniaturized look of annoyance.  The kid is pouting. It’s adorable and precious. He’s an absolute treasure compacted into a tiny, tiny body.

 The boy continues to blink down with his maroon eyes. He keeps blinking over and over again, because it’s fucking _John_.  He’s never fucking seen John, not in so very, very, very long and his head is whirling around him. He’s feeling dizzy and, and, and—Yeah. He’s crying.  Those fat globs of moisture have returned and they’ve brought sticky snot and high-pitched hiccups with them. Great. Good. Fantastic.

 _Whatever_.

 “I—I, I’m Karkat.” He sniffs, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. Karkat squeezes his eyes closed to get rid of the tears because... _because_ this is _not_ a moment to be crying. He’s supposed to woo John so that he can contract him and _protect_ him. (JohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohn) ( _hesherehesherehesfinallyhere_ ) He doesn’t want this to go _badly._ (godimissedyouforsolong) ( _pleasedontgo_ )

 Karkat continues, tears unrelenting. “A-And, I-I’m, just—” He can’t speak. His voice is too airily high and shuddery for him to say anything concrete. And yet he goes on because he’s a fool with his fists jammed into his eyeballs. “..Fuck. What’s, what’s y-your name?” He makes a wet inhale and his knobby popping knees grow weak before he laughs. Maybe he laughs at himself, at his own cursed inability to compose himself, or maybe it’s at his situation. It’s funny, in a way, because he gave up hope on this happening again a while ago and yet, look where he is now.  Even as his chest is hitching, even as his vision goes all blurry and coloured with his tears, as sharp pain invades his insides, he can’t help but fucking _smile_. God, he’s a _sap_ , and John will think he’s weird, but _fuck_ just—Just please, please, please let John live out the rest of his days like this.

 He laughs and his chest is racked with shifts from two different kind of motions. “Is, Is y-your n-name...John?”

 “Hey it's okay...I uh…” John’s overbite pulls on his bottom lip, “You don’t have to cry.” He disregards what Karkat asked and stares at the other boy in confusion. Taking a moment to better look at the kid that had knocked him over, John seems to ease from his defensive stance. Slowly he moves closer and reaches for the other boy. He almost looks like he feels at fault for this incident. Although Karkat’s not sure how that could even be a thing.

_Please let him stay compassionate. Let him stay happy.  Let him stay dumb._

 John tries for a soft smile and holds out his hand.   _God. John is a fucking idiot._ ( _Let him stay that way up until the end of days, for it’s best to be ignorant than…. **the alternative.**._ )

 “I fucking know that.” Karkat spits out or does his best to. In actuality, all of the bubbling happiness and hysterical relief is _doing_ things to him and his words. He can’t get up and doesn’t even fucking try. Still, he eyes John’s outstretched hand with bitter mirth.  “Do, d-do, do y-you think I want to cry, huh?” His voice pitch makes his weepy hiccup all the more pathetic. One of his hands stretches out to hold John’s, to feel if this is _real_. To feel his childishly fat hands, with soft bones, and obvious lack of hard lines or edges. Tears dribble from his eyes, gather at his chin, and drop onto his chest. They soak into the eager cloth of his shirt. His nose and eyes are rouge, and the shine of snot trickles down toward his lips,  “Still, look, l-look at me, blubbering—This, Th-This is pretty weird for you, isn’t it?”

 John winces at his words, but holds on to Karkat’s hand, paying no mind to the dirt. It’s all Karkat could wish for. John’s eyes grow large as he watches the other boy, "You swear a lot." John’s smile only seems to dimple his cheeks further. He didn’t seem to be giving any indications he was planning on leaving anytime soon. Although Karkat is sure he is unorthodox in this moment, John was still here and amiable in aura. Now that was weird.

 “Yeah.” Karkat snorts and tries pulling John closer with both hands hooked onto the other, hands needy and aching, and with too much force despite his gauntness. His snot and tears forgotten, or at the very least, that toxic worry had been displaced. Karkat’s tug causes John  to topple and falls straight onto him. They both grunt, but only John moves to sit up with his palms flat on the grass. He merely looks down at Karkat in shock, jaw slack and eyes a little bugging. Karkat's skin itches at the stare, and, quite certainly, he's had enough of John's weird lack of words, “--And you don’t say f-fuck all. That a, that a th-thing for all of you n-normal people or, or o-only for you?”

 John laughs at this, the sound high and twinkling, but his eyes reflect the sparkle of worry. It stays afloat in the color of the brilliant sea. "Jeez, Karkat. You're pretty mean for a kid who was just crying." He says that, but it doesn’t really look like Karkat has stopped crying. John sits to the side of Karkat, but continues to hold his hand. Other kids seem to be looking up to locate the sounds of a wounded animal. They aren’t wrong, not wholly.

 Karkat will be blubbering for a while. But it’s not as bad now, he’s not full with that much hysterical disbelief anymore, instead, it’s protectiveness that’s welling up inside of him. John is _here_ and nearby and he can feel his skin, his light, smooth, hairless skin against his own, and he _refuses_ to let go. Because if not, who knows what’ll happen?

 “You n-never answered me.” Karkat retaliates with a curl of his lip, and he tries smoothing down his voice by swallowing and swallowing and swallowing and swallowing.  “Is your name J-John?” Tears are drying on his face, only to be replaced by new ones. It’s building up grit in the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t spare a hand to stop them from bubbling up in his vision. He simply...Holds John’s hand. He doesn’t want to let go. And he doesn’t.

 "Well that depends..." John is still grinning when he moves to reach over with his other hand and wipe at Karkat’s wet face. His fingers come back wet and help clean off some of the grime off Karkat’s face. "Will you stop crying if it is?" John’s attentively staring down, searching for the opportune moment  to crack a joke. If Karkat’s memory serves him right, he was always too quick to try to liven up the mood.

 “N-Nope.” Karkat is leaning in to the touches like an affection starved hound that is about to be taken in by a kindly soul. “I think... I think I’ll only stop crying when the sun goes and fucks off and that’s only, o-only an if.” Still, he does scrunch up his eyes and leans forward and plants his head against the other boy’s chest. This will be fucking _weird_ later, he knows, and he’ll deny this moment to John’s grave, but he’ll just... Let it wash over him. Let it attempt to drown him because maybe then, he could feel less fear curling into the edges of his being. Fear he feels for John and his future. None for himself.

 John awkwardly has his hand still up in the air when Karkat rests his head against his goddamn chest. "Hey...uh..." He seems lost in his own thoughts as he rests that hand atop Karkat’s messy dark curls. Then he peers down, notices what Karkat is wearing and the stupor is shaken from him. It’s in a tone largely confused, but slightly amused that he asks, "...Are you a wearing a dress??"

 And to Karkat’s credit he doesn’t stiffen. Mostly, because it wasn’t a comment on the sheer _shitty quality_ of it. It’s a torn, far-too large, dirty t-shirt, with just a basic reveal of a creeping bloodstain near the left hem. Hopefully, John doesn’t recognize the few dark rust spots for what they are.

 “Y-Yeah? Yeah, I am, I mean—Dresses are in now, aren’t they?” Karkat jokes, eyes rolling to look at the other with plastered mirth. “Wandering around with your legs free, fucking, fucking flouncing around and risking underwear spotted by pedophiles—Gosh digigity darn it, don’t it sound appealing?” Not like… He actually had underwear on at the moment.

 John then tilts his head to the side and scrunches his eyebrows together giving a perplexed squint down at Karkat. "But dresses are for girls?" His glasses are drooping low giving him a funny glare from the sun.

 “Are they?” The smaller boy humours the taller. He nuzzles his forehead into John’ soft, tiny chest. ( _godhessofuckingfragilegoddontlethimdiepleaseplease_ ) John’s heartbeat is a paean to his starving ears.

 “Well then either I’m a girl, or I don’t give a shit. Which, wh-which will it be, huh, John?” His hands move to wrap around John’s thin _(tiny)_ chest. His equally tiny hands gently hold him in place, holding him still, so that he won’t melt away and leave him alone.

 With his mouth hanging and eyes bugging, John slowly reciprocates the hug. "..Hey are you in trouble or something?” Worry and protective intent lilts his words, “Is someone chasing you ‘cause if they are we can hide...” Karkat’s brows furrow, but he listens. “There's lots of places you can hide on this street... Like once when I was playing manhunt I found a porch that you can travel under and it leads to a backyard with a pool." He's rambling, he’s all nerves, and then, the crème de la crème to this bizarre conversation: "Oh and they have pool noodles too.."

 “No, no, no.” He shakes his head, head rubbing into John’s chest and he moves his head up a bit against the boy’s hard collarbone. “No, I’m fine but—“ He’s leaving tear stains on John’s shirt and most likely, some snot. Ew. EW. “—But I wouldn’t, _ha_ , object going to this pool. I mean. Pool noodles are the fucking shit, aren’t they? Just as in as dirty-ass dresses are.” Karkat has no idea what a pool noodle is and sincerely hopes it is not some demented torture instrument. He’s not overly fond of those.

 John’s arms around him feel like they’re keeping him together and if they leave he would surely topple into a million little bits that’ll all come together only at the turn of a new beginning. Still, despite his _need_ for John’s touch, the air isn’t heavy and oppressive. Despite his fleeing tears and shaking voice, Karkat hasn’t been this happy in years.

 John speaks up, voice starting low and awkward, but with the caution that the small smile would allow. "But, um, we should go see my Dad... Dinner will probably be ready soon and you might need to change into... something you can wear in the water." There’s a pause where he looks up at the playground for a moment and then speaks again. "I mean only if you wanna.." Karkat’s face lifts and he sees John’s eyes going soft when looking back down at him. When John’s fingers skim over his face, Karkat finds that there isn’t any fresh wetness. He doesn’t know when that happened, but he smiles none-the-less.

 However, he’d most likely breakdown in private later. Actually, it _will_ happen.  No questions asked, really.

 “It’ll be an honour, rat-face.” His eyes are still red, but as the seconds tick by, all of his snot, and tears dry up. It's left the corners of his eyes feeling crusty and dry. “Will—Will your dad be okay if I turn up like this?” He doesn’t want to divulge too much but—He doesn’t want to lie either. He bites his lip, and lets out a half-lie, “I can do anything I want. My, m-my dad doesn’t really care.” Hopefully, John won’t read too much into _that_. “Don’t tell your dad, though, or anyone else. They’ll—They’ll get _real_ fucking jealous of my freedom, you hear?”

 John’s eyes come together to look up at the sky while he thinks, "Hmmm... This feels like a super-secret mission. Like double-o-7.” 

 “Double-o-what.” Karkat deadpans and makes a flourish with his hands, as his expression goes uneasy.

 However John, as quick as could be, goes lively and childish again. “Hmm well then you could always borrow clothes of mine. Oh I guess that means we can ask for you to stay for dinner!” Excitement leaches into his tone and he takes a small step to stand and starts bouncing in place. Unbridled energy bundled up into an area far too small to contain it. “Oh _dude_ my Dad makes _really_ good food, you’d love it." He reaches down to grasp one of Karkat’s palms and squeezes his hand once before he pulls him up and away from the park. His smile and eyes trailing off as he looks back, "Oh but if you only like to wear dresses I don't think I have any..."

 “Yeah, I can imagine that your dad cooks well—” (pleasedontletthisbeadream) “And, really, I don’t care. Just fucking throw me anything you have and I’ll parade around in it with the confidence of a high-brow stripper.” John doesn’t know what a stripper is. He won’t get that. Fucking hell. Karkat pads after John, hissing under his breath when his barefeet hit asphalt, but at least, it’s not hot. Just warm. At some point, he gets used to it. Karkat thinks he knows why John’s so friendly, so desperate to be with a grimy, scabby kid who he’d just met. And it’s not just ‘cause he looks like he’s eight.

 They get to a house, just as cleanly white and friendly looking like all of the others nearby. John walks around the side and crawls through an open window while making small ‘doot doot’ noises. Karkat doesn’t know why he’s doing that. He looks ridiculous crouching down when there’s no need to. He tries to do the same before he stands up to pull the window open wider. His cheeks are pink and he sighs out a breath.

 "Hey need help getting up?" John is through the window and is offering his hand back at Karkat. Karkat attempts to pull himself up and he deftly dodges through the tangle mess of clothes on the floor when he gets through. His landing nearly sends him stumbling and cursing onto the floor. When he looks up he is greeted by posters scattered on the walls. They appear half haphazardly put up and unevenly distributed to the corners of the room. There's a small bookshelf of video games and movies stacked up one side of the room near the small black box of a television set and on the opposite side is a twin bed sporting blankets with colorful cartoon turtles that appear to be ninjas. Strange profession for them.

 John pulls out a plain black t-shirt and jean shorts. He takes a moment to inspect them before throwing them out onto his bed. "Those are clean enough." His tone is pleased, but with some reservation. Karkat’s eyes sweep over the room ,but he moves over by the bed. He picks those clothes off the sheet and eyes them carefully.  With a frown, he notes that they’re a _touch_ too big for him—But whatever. Whatever.

 He pulls on the shorts, hiking them up to his bellybutton, and throws off the long shirt he had on.  Only then, does he pull the shirt on and let the cool fabric of the black shirt sit on him loose, but snugly. He’s far too dirty and skinny to look like he belongs in them. He plans to mend that soon. Nothing more annoying than sitting down on a bony ass while someone like John simply chortles at your plight.

 Karkat is full of woes and he expresses them by kicking at a pair of pants by his feet. “Your house looks like some deranged pop culture beast experienced a bad bout of chronic shitting here, before dissolving into some further disgrace.” The red in his eyes reflects when he turns his head to make obvious note of the bed. When he breathes out, heavily he can feel his nostrils flare,  “And half elephant-half turtle beasts. That too. It shit those out with one last dying bellow. This is all a goddamn disgrace.” And yet he walks and peers at the posters by the desk and at the movies. Touching them with his nut-brown fingers. His gaze is one of inquisition.  

Then a muffled noise from downstairs... Some scuffling. Karkat freezes before he can help himself, breath automatically stilling. Whoever it is, their footsteps are loud, but John doesn’t seem to be in distress at the sound. John simply continues to rummage through one of the large trunks in the room. Has to be his Dad then. The noises seem to be making their way down the damned stairs. Hopefully, _hopefully_ he isn’t going to be kicked the fuck _out_. The silence between the two young boys drags on. The steps then suddenly cease. The door takes that still moment to open and in peers a tall dark-haired man with a fond smile settled on his face. The stench of rich tobacco saunters into the room with the confidence of a suburban middle aged mother of four.

 "John, I thought I heard you in here." The voice is an accented baritone. When he speaks he  steps in and his eyes are immediately drawn to the other wide-eyed, boy in the room. Not John. Even though he was addressing his son his eyes remain on Karkat. John's father is a tall man and comes off as a bit imposing. What with, ha,  his broad shoulders, perfectly tailored clothes, and square jaw. He was almost too intimidating except for that blaringly bright white fedora nestled upon his head. He stares at John, and once the boy seems to squirm deep down in his  _soul_ , he _finally_ addresses the issue of Karkat. The man seems to mull over his words for a second. Karkat swallows.  "...John…” His eyes flit back and forth from the two children. “Why didn’t you tell me we were expecting company." Karkat doesn’t sigh, but he’s this close to doing so. Dad-i-o strides through the room giving a look in John's direction once he’s at the very end. That’s a look that suggests John is going to have to clean his room _soon_.

 John's Dad (and yes the capital is needed) stops in front of Karkat, holding his hand out in the expectation of a handshake. "It’s nice to see John made a friend this summer after all." His voice goes soft as he looks over the skinny child covered in spots of dirt. Karkat is the ramshackled intruder and he feels unease in that man's stance. John makes a displeased sigh with his shoulders sagged down low. He is rolling his eyes with his bottom lip puffed out.

 Automatically, Karkat reaches out his own hand and shakes it.  The ragged shirt-dress is still by his feet. He doesn’t pay it any heed, hoping the elder will do the same. Karkat puffs out his chest.  Straightens his spine,  raises his head, and smashes his bare heels together. They make a dull thump.“I’m Karkat Vantas, and we’ve literally just met.” He says, glancing towards a sheepish John. “You can’t match make just yet, but I’m hoping this conquest will be fruitful, sir.” Wait. No. That’s not the right thing to say, is it... _FFFFuck_ his mouth. Shit. Shit. Shit. Still. At least he added the ‘sir’—That’s right, right? That hasn’t phased out of existence, right?  He _can’t_ imagine that he’s an impressive sight—Hair so matted and tangled that it’ll cause any hairdresser to spontaneously combust and any and all hairbrushes to glance longingly off a ledge, fucking disgusting cheekbones poking out of his skin, sunken red-brown eyes, and dirt caking him more and more as one descends his body, with his feet being fucking _black_ with filth. In fact, he’ll be surprised if Dad doesn’t go and call child services right now (stupidstupidstupid).

 However, he doesn’t seem peeved by his appearance, at least, not outwardly. _God bless human ignorance._ "Well it is very nice to meet you, young man.” He glances down. Ah. He noticed his feet. “John why don't you help me with setting another plate at the dinner table. Karkat, you are welcome to use our washroom. You boys get far too dirty when playing outside."

 John looks up and nods at his Dad before scampering out the door.

 “Ah—He doesn’t need to do that, I can help--” His arms flail and he almost tries running after John, but he pauses. Taking a better look at the crumbs of dirt he is currently leaving behind. “..Oh. Maybe I should use your…” He swallows. His ears turn ruddy. “Yeah” Actually. He should _really_ wash, because the floor here _looks_ like it’s in the greener scale of the wealth spectrum. The floor looks sickly and wan, being tainted by his own disgusting touch. He bites his lip, and inclines his head (do they do that anymore?) towards John’s father. He speed walks to the bathroom, but he feels like Hansel losing his way in the woods.

 It’s a modest sized room. Slight off whites color the walls and floors, the ceiling, the towels, the bathtub... Such diversity in the household of colors. When he walks over to the sink he notices the rubber ducky patterned curtains near the shower. The sink is marble and spotless. It beckons Karkat as he feels shame for what he’s about to do to its clear, shimmering, pure surface.

 Then, for a lack of a better word, he proceeds to _struggle_ with the sink. Firstly, with his height, as stout as it is. It is made difficult by all of the universe gathering together to rage against him in the form of such a weak force such as gravity.  It is difficult to get _any_ parts of him up over the counter. Secondly, the sink is stubbornly _adamant_ on blasting his face and chest instead of his feet. Goddamn squirting him with the fucking force of a pissed, republican sun god. This would be _so_ much more easier if he just took a _shower_ —He freezes in that moment, water still cascading over his dirty knee, and looks at the shower in the corner of his eye.

 ..Fucking incredible, Karkat Vantas. Fucking incredible.

 He turns off the tap and peels off the wet cloth from his limbs. It has chilled to his skin and he drops it onto the floor without a second glance. Moving toward the shower, he hops into the shower, and lets it cascade in warmth over hi— _TOO HOT SHIT_ —

 Karkat flaps his arms madly and bottles come crashing down onto the porcelain catch. They make so much _noise_ that _surely_ the entire house would come fucking running. He goes still and sucks in a large breath as the hot water continues to burn and pain his flaking skin. After no one marches up, pitchforks and torches in hands, he yanks away from the shower. Away from such heat, the pain was making him shake and he attempted to take the minimum amount of soap and shampoo to clean his hair. Just to indulge himself, he took a _little_ , pomegranate smelling conditioner too. The result of his shower, was him sopping wet despite what he might try to do with the towels. The reason _why_ was because more would just _drip down from his fucking head_ and continue to keep him in an eternal soak. It would only further keep him angrier. His head was already fuming, but he partook in the walk of shame. The crumb trail of old now replaced by fat globs  of water.

 Is this what misery is?

 It is. It fucking is.

 He fails in locating John upstairs, so he slowly starts delving into the downstairs area, back towards John’s room. He is inspecting what he can and sees John, his Dad, and an older woman engaging in conversation while setting things up for dinner. He takes a moment to stop himself because this is so _domestic_ and they’re laughing, and chatting. God, he’s made a _serious_ fucking mistake here, he should go. Go and watch from afar, or just not do this so soon because he’s a fucking intruder in their perfect, normal _human_ lives—

 Karkat slinks towards the door. He is careful not to make a sound, despite the weeping beat of his heart and the steady, yet gentle falls of droplets hitting the hardwood floor. But the drops betray him. Quick like a whip John’s attention snaps in his direction and he bounds around the table into Karkat.

 "Did you lose a fight with the sink??" John’s inquiry is innocent, despite Karkat’s soured expression.

 Both adults are peering over his shoulders at the two of them. The older woman turns her head to raise an eyebrow at John’s Dad. He returns her look and minimally shrugs his posture in return. He gets up to walk over to what looks to be a spare closet and pulls out a cyan blue towel. He then moves around the table and gently places it atop John’s head to get his attention. John grabs it with both hands without looking back. He then proceeds begins to wrap it around Karkat.

 Dad walks back over to the table and the woman hasn’t stopped staring at the dripping eight year old. Her bright red spectacles slip down her nose not dissimilar from the boy trying to make him a human burrito. "Where did he come from?" She asks, quietly, to John's Dad, Karkat can barely pick it up, but he pretends like he can’t at all. John remains transfixed on Karkat while they speak in hushed whispers at the table.

 John's Dad scratches the back of his fedora against his head, "He seems like a good kid... if not a bit odd. Good manners, though." Karkat's heart beats, completely out of sync of the other's in the same spot. 

 Just like that the conversation seems to end. John continues to smother Karkat in the towel while trying not to laugh too much at his own efforts. He fails, the little shit. Karkat can’t keep himself from growling in response and wrestles the fabric away from his face. John seems to ignore his efforts and pushes the towel to cover as much of the smaller boy as possible. With ridiculous vigor. What an obnoxious idiot. After trying to pat down Karkat’s clothes as much as possible  John moves to dry Karkat's hair. With his fragile body, Karkat can’t fight back very well. He ends up defeated, with every strand of his hair headed for the heavens. His clothing is sticking to his skin, but it's lacking any moisture if one was to probe its surface. John has somehow _destroyed_ his usual fuck ton of curls. He just made them all clamber atop each other, it’s a goddamn race to the top. As if a billion fucking helium balloons were anchored to his scalp.

 In that moment, John’s eyes crinkle in an obvious show of amusement. He seems to have realized the extent of fluffy damage he has enacted upon what Karkat once called his hair.

 Without the barrier of the towel in place Karkat’s scowl is in full view.“Oh yeah. How nice. Make me feel like a goddamn rutting male lion in the Savanah, trying to take over the pride and commit genocide on the other’s fucking young. How did you know that I’ve wanted to lead a feline coup d’état?”The adults remain talking in more hushed tones, but he knows he heard them speak a bit earlier. Karkat sneaks glances back to the table of the adults over John’s shoulder. One of his canines nibbles worry on to the corner of his mouth. He’ll have to address them when—When John will be a bit more distracted.

 "Pffft you _do_ look like a lion with your hair like this." Clearly, John will be unwilling to take his eyes off of him in this moment.

 “Fucking told you.” Karkat  muttered, comment going unheard.

 John was apparently having _too_ much fucking fun with the towel. His Dad, loudly, clears his throat behind the two of them. John stops his motions and hesitates before resting his arms back down to his sides. "Sorry... I was maybe just having _too_ much fun." Yes, John, you were having _too_ much fun. He left the towel still hanging over the side of Karkat's head. "But hey dinner's done! And Dad said if you wanted you could  maybe or I mean we could have a sleep over… ya know if your Dad would be okay with it." John grinned at his own words his head forward with an over exaggerated wink in Karkat's direction. He turned back to walk to his place at the table and sat up straight. He kept returning his eyes to gauge if his Dad made a sign that he was behaving correctly. His Dad’s lips upturned at his son’s shenanigans and nodded in his direction. He then looked back up to where Karkat was still standing at a bit of a loss.

"While John is rather excited we would be honored if you would stay for dinner."

 The display of domesticity left Karkat dumbly blinking for a second longer. The towel slides off his head and ends up startling him. He scoops it up and feels his throat bobbing when he tries to swallow. His eyes steal glances at the three of them. Honoured? _Honoured?_ Is there something he hasn’t noticed about this? Is there something that obvious to everyone but himself? He glances back at John and shifts his bare feet to scuttling over to the towering man. He lowers his voice, something one would consider a miracle, and asks, “Is this okay? It doesn’t bother you that I—That I’m here?” Dad is far too tall for his own good—Even at the turn of adolescence (ha), Karkat needs to tilt his head so far backwards it strains against his comfort.

 Dad winces for a moment, just as Karkat does, but the man does try for a smile none-the-less. His response is given in the same tone, "As long as you can promise to watch the language." He remains standing expectantly near the table seeming to wait for Karkat to take a seat before moving.

 Karkat’s mouth feels dry and his throat parched. His eyes scoot to stare at John, who is amicably trying to tell the old woman about the different types of bugs he got to see that day. She smiles and inclines her head at his exclamations, but seems to be watching Karkat from the corner of her eyes. His stomach turns uncomfortably when looking into those dark,wise eyes. He looks away first.

 Karkat catches  the tail end of John’s ramblings. "And I saw some of the kids have scooters so I was thinking I could save up for a scooter rather than a bike. I could fly down the hill on the other side near the school--Oh and scooters are cheaper..." John pauses to look back at Karkat. "Are... you okay??" His fluffy eyebrows knit up in apparent concern. He is going to get whiplash with those mood swings.

 Karkat numbly nods to John’s words.He is feeling the burn of two gazes boring into him and it's causing his innards to squirm and squaltch. He wrings his hands...This. This is far more than what he was expecting—Do random ass kids wander into John’s house all the time? Have the customs taken this much of a sharp turn? _Jesus_.

 “I’ll—I’ll try to fu—Mcflippity watch it, sir.” Karkat’s voice is half hollow. He turns to sit down at the table to the left of John. This is better than he expected—Or, at least it seems so. It doesn’t seem like he has to win Dad and the old woman (Nanna?) over, not by much. Although, he is still wary and it is visible to the adults through the tension in his shoulders and jilted movements. He’s too perfectly still, even when the appetizing smell of dinner is causing his stomach to squeal.

 There’s a pause in the air and he is trying to remember what was it that John was talking about during his contemplation. He tries to reply to the last subject of John’s interest in a scooter, “Oh yeah, scooters are nice, I mean, if you have a driver’s license and all. I mean. Motorbike’s have to be better and scooters are just the low-budget version of that, but, hey, if you’re into shitt— _Ahh_ —Um—If into low budget rendition of things, then yeah! Yeah!” By this point, his voice was turning squeaky. “Go for it!”

 John visibly perks at the response. "Haha I was thinking about the scooters where you use your feet. Like a razor one." What. "Wait do I need a license for that??" John moves to serve himself while looking up at Karkat expectantly. Question marks fill up Karkat’s skull.

 “Razor scooters?” He mutters, once it’s finally been absorbed into his brain. In his mindscape, he’s picturing a motorbike monstrosity covered in razor blades and knifes, and goes a little pale.

 “I—I wouldn’t recommend that. Not. Not at fucking at all. Is this what’s hip now-a-days?? Planting your plush tush on a deathtrap now made even more horrifying??” His voice went high and hysterical and no one seemed to even take notice. Does anyone care for the health and wellbeing of children anymore??

 "Aw but Karkat they are _so_ cool. I can show you pictures on my tablet. Oh, uh, if you wanted to stay the night. That's still ya know.." He grins mischievously. Karkat feels guttural fear well up in his gut. Please. John knocks his hand  atop the surface near his plate. Karkat’s about to be sick. "On the table..." He looks up in obvious pride of the remark.  Karkat is so very angry, resentful, and disappointed that he can never express himself accurately in this moment. Not even if he was given all of the time in the world to work through his extensive vocabulary.

 John is reaching over the table for one of the other plates, but he’s still looking up at Karkat eagerly awaiting a reaction. No, you little hellspawn, you are _never_ getting a laugh out of him. Dad watches John quietly and while the two of them converse, he attends to his own plate. The woman on the other hand watches just Karkat.  "..Hoo-hoo.. you _do_ have quite the vocabulary."

 She hands the bowl of soft bun rolls over towards Karkat. She is apparently the goddamn Santa Claus. Fucking incredible.

 Once John was done, Karkat tries to pass some things to Nanna(?) and Dad. he is trying to get them to serve themselves first before he takes any of the food for himself. “..I guess I do have..quite the vocabulary.” He lamely says. Don’t upper middle class children speak like this? He was considering that _John_ was the anomaly, and not, in fact, himself. “..I read a lot.” He dumbly justifies. Putting a bread roll onto his plate he moves to serve himself some mash and bean sprouts. He’s not sure if his stomach can handle meat just yet so he ignores the _delicious roast_ just waving it’s amino acid laced legs at him.

 John continues shoveling food in his mouth with the gusto of a dying dog.

 Karkat follows John’s example, mostly eating the mash, but taking some bites of those tantalizing beans. However, he is eating far too quickly and too soon his small stomach is full.  He’s left staring at a half empty plate. He can’t waste food and yet—If he’ll eat it all, he’ll get sick. “..Sorry for wasting food, ma’am, sir.” He says, feeling utterly chastised, and pushing the plate a few centimeters in front of him, shifting in his seat. He avoids their eyes as he gets up from his seat and waits for John while staring down at his feet. At least they’re clean now.

 John notices Karkat push his plate,"Good you finished real quick. I can you show what I meant with the scooter." His face is in a glass of juice and then shoves his seat away from the table with both hands. His gaze meets his Dad's eyes with a quiet, "Excuse me" before grabbing one of Karkat’s hands and shooting away from the table. As if Karkat would stay in that goddamn room a moment longer. He’ll fucking have his ass handed to Lord Lucifer on a fucking silver platter. Jesus Christ.

 But still, with John, Karkat could breathe easy, and let go of some of the rigid walls he’s built around himself. It feels like that, at the very least. He’s dragged back to John’s room, just barely waving his own goodbyes. Back in the room, he starts inspecting from where he left off, while John rummages around his own junk pile from earlier. He’s unaware of John’s ultimate history, but can sense something intricately _wrong_ here. It’s far too lonely here. Far too demure, for an 8 year old with John’s personality. He can’t place his finger on it, but something _clearly_ went a touch..Wrong here.

 All the better he makes the contract with John. Karkat will need everything he has to do his duty and be a good Knight.

 John is rummaging through some ungodly colourful trunk until he finds the tablet and quickly pulls up Google to look for pictures of the scooters he wanted.

 John picks up from where he ended at the table, blasting away at the speed of light. "Yeah I can show you a picture of the scooter. It's _really_ cool and they come in blue, too!" ( _Of course John’s fucking death muncher scooter would be blue. Why wouldn’t it?_ ) _(It’sJohnIt’sJohnIt’sJohnIt’sJohnIt’sJohn)_ (Is it?) ( _yes._ )  

 John sits himself on his bed with the tablet in hand. He attempts to adjust his bright green square specs before poking the screen a bit and pulling up the search engine. He absently types in 'blue razor scooter' and proceeds to swipe his hand across looking for a good picture. There’s a beat, and two, and three.

 "Hey Karkat..." He continues swiping without raising his head from the tablet on his lap; tone remaining nonchalant. "How did you know my name?" It’s clearly been at the front of his mind for a while now. Karkat is already by John’s side, crawling onto the bed and peering at the.. miniature flat television. He’s partly in awe at the device. He watches John—John use ‘Google’? Isn’t that some company dealing with the Internet? Yeah, he’s using Google, and there’s an array of pictures he swipes by. He takes all of them in before he chooses to answer John’s heavy question.

 Karkat watches his feet tangle a few centimeters off the ground, mum. He doesn’t want to lie to John, but—But he wouldn’t accept his true answer. He just wouldn’t. None of them ever do. “..I just guessed, really because you look like a John.” He’s mumbling into his chest and heaving a shuddering breath. “And John is a common name in the USA...So..Yeah” He looks back at John, his big blue eyes meeting equally big maroon ones. “Hey—Are you, are you happy here?” Karkat’s head tilts by an inch and he reaches out to clasp one of the hands that had held the tablet. His hand is warm, yet clammy.

 But despite this, John freezes up and remains looking at Karkat." Pffft how do I look like a John??" He pointedly ignores the second question and faces the tablet displaying a picture of a multitude of scooters in different colors. "See I was thinking the blue one right there." He hands the tablet towards Karkat's hands trying to get his judgement on his choice. His smile is shaky.

 For a moment, Karkat doesn’t speak, but his hand tightens around John’s. He’s here, Karkat is here and John won’t feel this way any longer. Not if he can fucking help it. “..You’ve got the nose and the buckteeth, dude. It all screams ‘John’, just as my beauty screams out ‘Karkat.’.”

 John’s shoulders ease up, and he snorts. "Duuude, though, your name is way cooler than mine…”

 “It literally means ‘crab’. It’s not cool. It’s fucking crab.”  

 “Hehe it only sucks ‘cause you are a crab.” He’s smiling. John pauses, and he thinks before adding, “..Dad said maybe I should think about getting braces but..ew, right?”

 Karkat solemnly nods.

 "Hey since you said your Dad always lets you do what you want. Did you wanna have a sleepover? We could watch movies and play games.." He scoots closer to Karkat and clicks _something_ on the tablet that makes the picture disappear and some new demonic set of flashing colors appears. However, Karkat scoots a bit closer and scrambles to keep ahold of the device, letting go of John in the process. He leans in and examines the machine _thoroughly_. It’s. An odd thing, doesn’t seem to have a motor or a battery—Is it powered by the body then, like a bicycle? Is it the heat from his hands that keeps it on? Innovation is truly breathtaking.

 It doesn’t seem particularly dangerous though, so..”..Seems radical.” He comments, hoping he used the term right. He watches a game pop onto the screen with wide pupils and taps on the ‘Start’ option. It takes him a few tries to make sure he doesn’t break the joints of his digits as he’s attempting it. It’s something titled ‘Angry Birds’ and there’s the visage of a round bird with ireful brows glaring at him in the level selection. “Yeah—I’d really like a sleepover, I mean—Your parents are okay with it,and so are you, but where would I sleep..?”

 John lays back on the bed with his arms spread wide over his head and imitates the motions of making a snow angel while watching Karkat struggle through his demanding trial. "But I have a huge bed. We could just share. It's like big enough for two and a half mes." He watches Karkat scrunch up his nose and attempt to play through a few more rounds. Karkat can smell the humour rolling off him. Fuck you, little kid, fuck you.

 “Sharing is nice.” Karkat answers absent mindedly. His irritation and frustration is creeping into his voice and his fingers are jamming and swiping with more and more strength.—Because _fuck_ those mutated green limbless pigs. What the _fuck_ do they think they’re doing, _watching_ him while he fucking wrestles with these dumb fucking suicidal birds who don’t want to fulfil their fucking civic duty and commit genocide on those— _WAIT DID THAT PIG FUCKING LAUGH AT HIM_.

 With a guttural roar, he flings the tablet to his side on to John’s stomach. He crashes his face down on the bed, and screams into its plush emerald surface. Thankfully, the sounds he’s making are greatly muffled to even his own ears. After a minute like this, he goes limp. At some point, he turns his head to look at John. He is _refusing_ to even acknowledge that torturous flat-screened _monster_

 John hasn’t moved an inch from Karkat while he expressed his frustration, "..And you could play more games and _maybe_ get better." The window by the bed is dimming in light of the evening disappearing. The neighborhood is relatively hushed, most likely people preparing for the end of the season. "We could also go to the pool tomorrow. I promised noodles."

 Karkat just nods, or rather, rubs his head into the bed in response.

 Just then a knock at the door startles the two boys and John puts his hand up to greet his father. "Has Karkat asked his parents if he could spend the night, yet or do rides need to be arranged?" John’s Dad is holding onto the side of the door looking between the two lumps on the bed.

 John nods and gives Karkat a knowing look before answering. "He just needs to phone his dad. Then we can watch stuff all night. Oh and I think we have popcorn too. The salty stuff not just the gross caramel junk. I can..." Dad was giving him a look and he bit down on his tongue. He looked guilty. "But... I can wait ‘til after you call your Dad."

 Dad inclines his head at John and then turns expectantly to Karkat.  “There is a phone in the hallway you are more than welcome to. Let me know if you need any further assistance for the night." He left the door to the room slightly ajar when he left. John blinked back at Karkat.

 "So... yeah." After that whole weird ramble he tried for a smile. He failed. "It's no big deal if you can't stay... I just got a bit excited."

 Karkat shakes his head, however, sitting up, and assuring him, “My dad will say it's okay. He..Doesn’t really care about things like this.” The smile feels forced. “Be right back.”

 Karkat leaves the room to find the phone as was expected of him. Once there, he stood over it for a second, before remembering the number of a dud. A number he had used for situations like this. Swiftly pressing the digits on the pad, he put the phone to his ear. There was only white noise, up until a lady went and blabbed something in once-dulcet tones. Whatever, it didn’t matter, only the lie did. He stood there, chatting to himself for a few moments. Trying to act out the scenario before putting the phone back down onto the little pad and going back to John’s room.

 Once there, he threw John a thumbs up and sat down right beside him. “He said it’s okay—“ Turning to John, he mustered some enthusiasm—The day was starting to grate on him. There was an ever-pervading urge to _freak_ the _fuck_ out, but, he held it in. It still felt like it was building and building up in him. Right under his ribs, it was willing itself to flutter free. “So, we’re okay.” ( _No you’re not._ )

 John beamed before wrapping Karkat in a huge hug. Instant mood lifter if he’d seen any. "That's _awesome_! We are gonna have so much fun. I have tons of movies we can watch _oh_ and, and, _and_ I can make popcorn.” John hops off the bed, jittery, and looks around his shelf with stacks of movie cases. Karkat felt a grin starting to form on his own face— _Fuck_ , John’s enthusiasm is fucking _infectious_. Just as he had always remembered it.

 Karkat returned the hug, for the fucking moment it was there, and in a second, the boy had let go.  "Or we could play more games. Whatever you want to do.” John shrugged and then turned pensive. “But I can get you an extra blanket and make popcorn. Hey, look for something to watch or play. I'll be right back!" He smiles at Karkat once more before bouncing out of the room in excitement. He just can't seem to contain himself. John disappeared out the door like a spooktacular ghost. Karkat swallowed, aggravating _something_ in his throat. He waved in the direction John went. Not like he saw the wave.

 Wordlessly, the darker boy went over to the movie shelfs he had passed by earlier. He scanned the shelves for something familiar. A bunch of unfamiliar title after unfamiliar title, he settled on one thing that he had remembered: The Wizard of Oz. He pulled the little box out and scrutinized its picture. He’d seen this movie with so many people before but now... Now. He’ll watch it with John. And, ironically, John is most like Dorothy in the movie, the girl that was sucked up and thrown in an odd world where nothing but the simplest things were comprehensible. ( _And, at a basic level, she’s also Karkat._ )

 John returns minutes later with a blanket over his shoulder and a bowl of popcorn stowed in his little palms. The blanket is an old quilted piece (a plaid _monstrosity_ ) with vibrant swirls of colors and worn edges. The smell of buttered popcorn starts to steadily fill the room. John sits himself down on the floor with both and looks up at the standing boy. Blue meets red, and it’s a clash of colours. Neither yields.  

 "So did you decide on a thing?"

 “This.” Karkat answers while twirling the box in his fingers.  He grabs an edge of the blanket and pulls the bowl closer to his side as John gets up to insert the disc. If he minds himself to some popcorn, then, John didn’t see _that_.

 John’s dimples act up again as he looks down at the box, "Heh I haven't seen this movie in a while. Not a huge fan of the monkeys..." John staggers with the disk, but feeds it to the box below his little television box. After he bundles up the blanket around both him and Karkat. He drags the popcorn bowl to place it between them before, once again, stuffing his face.

 The movie goes on black and white and before long chuckling at the screen lessens as the bowl eventually empties. Outside, the sun has begun to set. It is casting everything in the room in hues of pink, lavender, and grey. The bowl has been scooted far out of reach on the floor and Karkat can hear John’s blinking grow slower while the screen is singing about courage.  

 But as John squirms by his side, Karkat finds his attention drifting back to him. He ends up  watching the other through the corner of his eyes. The steady pounding of hysteria seemed to abate as they continued to sit here, John’s warmth keeping him anchored.

 The screen flickers, but they’ve both forsaken the movie in favour of looking at each other. John’s expression grows fond, just as Karkat’s jaw slackens. John blinks twice trying to rub the sleep out, but startles himself upright each time he slouches. He reaches for the blanket to tighten its hold on his side and Karkat lets him take all of it. John half-heartedly attempts to stifle his yawn before grabbing the corner of the blanket and pulls it more tightly around himself, nuzzling into Karkat's shoulder. The voices from the movie have grown more muffled and the screen flickers animatedly. His glasses have gone askew where he leans on Karkat and he can't seem to find the energy to readjust them. Karkat takes them off altogether.

 Karkat’s not sure what he feels for this John, as he’s far too young. Far too naïve, just a bit too unfamiliar, but it’s certainly _something_ and at best he knows that every bit of him... from his human toes and drumming heart to his squelchy grey-pink brain, he wants to _covet_ and protect this boy. He speaks without thinking, eyes sweeping over the other’s face. “John, can I be your knight?”

 John’s small brows knit at Karkat’s question. "Yeah, Karkat. It is night. Silly question.”

 Karkat shifts, so that John has all of the comfort in the world. Not just the semi-hard thin shoulder the other boy was leaning on. Karkat’s own comfort is meaningless, in the face of this weak human creature with slim, feeble fingers. A heart under such fragile ribs that sings a song that could be so very easily interrupted and never once more picked up. It’ll be so easy, so very easy, to undo so very much.

 “No.” He gently says, voice so quiet, so utterly silent, that it’s difficult to pick out. “A knight. I’ll help you always. Always do whatever is that’s needed to be done. Always do everything dirty and foul, so that up until the end of your days.. I do everything that you shouldn’t ever have to do.”

 The way Karkat had shifted John, he was on the tender muscle of Karkat’s pectorals. One of Karkat’s arms is holding the boy’s shoulders. He kisses the top of John’s head where there was a spot where light flesh was visible, that small spot from which his dark hair spiraled out from. The hum of power was a background noise in Karkat’s head, building and building and responding to his words.  The thin wisps of might from his lips poured into John’s bones and muscles. They were nestling in every cell of the child’s body and readying itself for whatever it was that was to come.

 At least that’s what he told himself. What he told himself and hoped for as his vertebra creaked and cried under the strain of pressure.

 John’s face was still hidden, but he bobbed his head back and forth against Karkat. The boy was frowning into his shoulder and Karkat could feel his own lips tug downward. John stopped his motions and picked his head up to speak at Karkat, “Karkat... you can be my knight. But! I will also be yours. Even Steven. 'Cause what else are best friends for?" His expression perks up and he looks so goddamn pleased with himself as he lowers his head and closes his eyes again.

 Those are the dumbest words he has ever heard. For whatever reason, Karkat smiles harder than he has that entire day. His chest shifts with his own snort, no doubt, making John’s position a bit uncomfortable. “You’re such a fucking kid.” He says while closing his eyes. He leans his head back, his spine continues protesting as all it has to go to is down its pearly length. “Yeah. We’ll be best friends, huh? Best friends do their utmost to protect each other, don’t they?” He can’t help but imagine John in knight paraphernalia. With the heavy armour, the pompous colours, and the sour looking horse toeing the ground nearby.

 Heh. Ha. Ha-ha. “..Hope you’ll stay like this forever.” _I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you do,_ went unsaid. Unsaid and left in the spaces in between. No doubt, floating in the air like a supple fruit that’s left to go sickly sweet, crinkle up, and left to rot all on it’s lonesome.

 John’s eyes close and he doesn’t make a noise as something snaps into place.  It’s done. They’ll be together for the end of their days. Up until the parade of their bones, the theatre of their sinews and muscles, and the musicals of their skin and eyes will crumble into biological dust that will be spread onto the breeze. They will not even be a memory, not a thought, not a single kiss of love or a hug of comradery, because it’ll simply shift onto the then-present and who they’ll be then.

 Karkat’s tentative thread intertwines with John’s and Karkat hopes that John doesn't notices the feeling. Hopefully he won’t notice that, once, Karkat had been part of a magnificent, stretching tapestry, with twenty different shades of completion colouring it glorious entropy.

 The bed remained long forgotten while both boys proceeded to simply pass out on the floor.


	2. I desire stability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are super duper appreciated.
> 
> Also points to everyone who can list all the dorky refs and memes. I can't help but be a memey fuck. - Bam

 

(2011)

 James was standing by the counter in the dead silence of early morning. He was still in his pajama bottoms and robe and had assumed he would need coffee before attempting to prepare for work. As he watched the steam of his mug lazily rise and fade, he silently chuckled to himself. The boys had been keeping him up for the past week with loud arguments over some new game of theirs and he was going to be needing very _strong_ coffee. The sun was up and making the room far too bright for his liking. So, in order to soothe his burning eyes, he turned to take his cup and patted himself over to the kitchen table, nicely swept up in shade. He heard footsteps coming from down the hall and was surprised by the sight of Jian up so early.

 “James, you look like you could hibernate for a few more months…” Her smile was knowing.

 In truth, she had warned him about being too lenient with allowing John’s friend to spend all of spring break at their house, but the two had been almost inseparable this past year. He had become rather fond of the other child for the past few years and still had yet to learn much about the child’s family. He didn’t mean to assume, but it had become apparent that Karkat seemed to favor being at their house more often than not. The boy seemed to put John at ease and his social skills had greatly improved thanks to his new friendship. Even if those hard earned social skills were only applied for this one friend. School life had been getting better and soon they would be starting middle school. “You and I, both know that for the most part they are harmless.” He pauses to take a sip and hums to himself before regarding her, once more, “And at least school is starting up again on Monday.”

 “Hoo, hoo, that they are.” She snorts, “Of course I would prefer that you drank tea... They passed out around 3? They’ll probably be asleep til the afternoon.” She sauntered over to the kitchen and left James to his mug.

 He had been tempted several times to talk to Karkat, but he really didn’t want to pry… nor did he believe it was his right. He sighed and looked over at one of the smaller counters on the wall. It held the frame of a faded image of  Qìxí in one of her purple sun dresses. He had talked to Karkat about John’s sensitivity on the subject of her loss. He couldn’t always be home and his son had developed quite the profound bond in a short amount of time. Besides, Karkat was a good lad with the right of idea of responsibility he would be sure to care for John if the moment arose.

 Jian reappeared with a steaming mug of her own and sat on the chair beside James. “You know that strange kid was almost a godsend. Who knows where John would be if he hadn’t made such a good friend. He will be just fine.” She blows over her mug and meets James’ eyes, “He’s got a lot of fight in him. Heck even Karkat has his own fire blooming... There’s something about that kid…” Her eyes seem to duly light up.  “Hoohoo..I dare say he is a loyal fellow.” They both sip silently for a moment before she continues, tone and spark muted, “Do, do you think he is ready to talk about her again? To talk about…” She looks over to the framed picture, but her expression remains solemn. Without her glasses on her face she is so much less like her usual self.

 James rubs his thumb down the side of his mug, the movement doing nothing to his numbed reaction. He finishes the last of the coffee and stares down at the empty mug trying to avoid too much eye contact. He still respects her an awful lot after all these years . “He’s getting there.” His voice is soft. “We’ll just have to give him some more time.” He looks up at the clock and suddenly jerks up away from the table.  The clock on the mantle is telling him he is going to be late if he doesn’t start his morning routine.

 He sits up and takes his mug with him, but steps closer to Jian to kiss the top of her head. “Thank you. For everything.” Her presence here always meant so much to him and he is not sure where he would be without her.

 She coos and brings her hand up to her cheek in appreciation, “Dear, go ahead and get ready, I’ll be here when the boys wake.” His smile is so genuinely identical to his son’s and he pecks her once more on the cheek before dashing back into the kitchen. Jian felt the smile against her cheek. As his footsteps descend she pulls her mug closer to herself and sighs, “ They’ll be just fine… ”

 

* * *

 

(2013)

 The chorus of birds in the morning is not one John greatly enjoys waking up to. In fact if he could hit snooze on the morning all together that would be swell. He moves his face away from the offending light splattering through the thin veil of curtains and finds he can’t lay his head back. Something hits the back of his head and when he reaches up to remove it he tugs down a blue poofy ball of metallic confetti. Along with it comes the purple, wrinkled cardboard cone  that it was attached to. Ah. He had celebrated his birthday last night. He grins up at the mess the birthday hat was in and moves to throw it over the side of the bed. It hadn’t offended his sleep, but he wanted a few more blinks before he was ready to greet the day. He pulled the blanket much more snug over himself and rolled over closer to the window and bumped right into an arm.

 Startled, John sits up and blinks down at Karkat’s spread out figure. His arms are outstretched on either sides and he still has his own bright green party hat bent over the side. John pushes both his palms to cover his snorts at Karkat’s sleeping position. With the hat, his whole back thrown back and a small puddle of drool forming over the side of his face he just looked down right silly. Karkat was always so stressed or even serious, but it was just nice to see the difference that sleeping had on him. Not to mention he always seemed tired. Like bags under his eyes and sometimes passing out on John when he would come to visit for an hour too long. There were times John’s Dad would ask him questions about Karkat’s sleeping patterns and John couldn’t answer most of them. When Karkat would pass out he would just tell his Dad that they had gym that day or some other excuse. He wasn’t really sure why he did it, but he felt it was important.

 Karkat rolled over closer to the window as if he could feel the thoughts being directed at him and John freezes. After a moment, he realizes it didn’t seem like Karkat would be getting up any time soon.  His friend was just being restless. Karkat was known to sometimes roll out of John’s bed during some of their sleepovers and it's why John usually likes to sleep on the outside of the bed. He doesn’t want to wake up Karkat just yet. The more Karkat sleeps the more they can play video games today. That’s when comedic genius reminds him that this is a perfect opportunity for some harmless fun.

 John still doesn’t want to wake Karkat, so he edges himself off the bed as gently as deemed possible. His socks help him tip-toe over to his wardrobe. The mirror has small tags of silly pictures from school, field trips, and his family. Karkat is actually in a lot of them. He guesses that makes sense since Karkat actually helped him in taping them up on the sides of the mirror. John still couldn’t reach that well over the top of the counter and would sometimes ask Karkat for help with it. It wasn’t fair Karkat was just a little bit taller than him. But he didn’t need his help right now. He pulled out one of the lower drawers, full of miscellaneous junk and rummaged for what he was looking for. When his fingers grip the black crayola marker he holds it up in triumph, playing the victory chest music in his head. Speaking of which, they should totally bust out the gamecube later today.

 He scampers back up to the bed and sits himself on his knees. He looks down at Karkat and ponders what would be the best in this situation. Usually Karkat wakes up earlier than John so he has to take full advantage of this exciting day. He decides to go with a classic look and doodles a twirly mustache. He can’t help but be pleased with his work and adds a messy goatee to add to the look. The cream atop the cone of sweet ice cream. A yawn has John pausing in his work and he stretches to leave the marker beside the window sil. The blanket is still hanging off the side of the bed, so he grabs the corner of it again and snuggles up close to the lump in his bed. He pulls the blanket over the both of them and snuggles up to the warmth emitting from his slumbering friend.

 He blinks, and his vision darkens again.

 “John! Stop being a useless slug and get out here to help Nanna with the pancakes!”

 John sits up with a shock, he reaches over to feel warm emptiness. Blah, what a jerk. Karkat couldn’t have gotten up that long ago. John gets up, blinking rapidly and hollering, “Yeah… yeah! I’m, I’m coming!”

 He doesn’t notice that the black marker by the window sill has been just so subtly shifted from its original position.

 There’s some brisk waddling to the bathroom, and he starts the sink and pulls out his toothbrush and the toothpaste while smacking his lips a bit. His face feels a bit warm and he looks up to see the wrinkles of his pillow indenting half his face and...wait a minute. He didn’t put his glasses on so he pulls himself closer to the mirror, over the counter and squints. There’s black marks drawn on his face, just around his eyes and leading to his ears. Pffft, that is so darn uncreative. His ‘stache was way cooler. Honestly, he’s just lucky Karkat didn’t choose to practice his dick drawing skills on him. He starts laughing in the bathroom before shouting back out the bathroom door, “KARKAT! I already wear glasses!”

 

* * *

 

(2015)

 “Edward, your mother is never going to forgive you for this…” Vantas was standing by his side while he arranged himself in front of the mirror. His own ceremonial dress colors matched by his servant’s own fancy clothes. Such gorgeous gold highlights and deep reds and blues. He still thought these clothes would look best on him, out of his whole family. And certainly not on his brother. He tried to soak in his visage in the mirror, eyes roaming every bit of ornate stitch work, every pearl and every thread of gold. For, after this, he wouldn’t be allowed much of this privilege. He pulled on the backside of his cape to better arrange the look. He wanted to present his best for the announcement tonight, but maybe this was all a bit much.

 “Vantas, you know I prefer you call me David when we are in private.” And then, he adds, eyes glancing towards the Irishman. “And I love her…” He pulled back the blond locks falling in disarray on his forehead and checked that his hair was still carefully parted. Being a prince again was going to come with a lot of cuts and maybe he had wanted more for everyone. He was always feeling like he wanted to do more in general. His own reflection in the mirror looked strange, his blue eyes seeming distant and cold. “I feel Wallis might help me explore that part of me that I always felt I was missing. She’s worth it,”

 Vantas still has the audacity to roll his eyes before turning away. His shoulders appear tense even as he retorts calmly, “You will explore her like every other girl you explored on this side of the godforsaken hemisphere and end up bored with the two bit tramp and…” He pauses. For a moment it appears he has finally learned to shut his lewd mouth, but nope, he’s just going to change tactics, “She’s an American.” He begins, head shifting and brown locks falling to the right. “Divorced twice, even. How can you be sure she is worth losing your position?” He turns to meet his gaze and there is a beat of actual hesitation and… melancholy? “You are meant for so much more. Didn’t you want to be a hero? You seemed to care about your people when we were in southern Wales.” His mouth is deepening into a threat of a full out frown and his voice is becoming defensive.

 The prince quietly waits for his good servant to finish his little rant, he always seemed so keen on finishing when he has started. He comes over to brace the other man by the shoulders and tries for reassurance, “She’s not another Marguerite. She’s something else.” Vantas’ shoulders are taut and his muscles knot around so much that they almost cancel each other out. The blond drops his eyes before trying for serious, this man deserves better than him, “We both know I’m no hero. I can’t stay here, but…” He pretends to think about it while looking up at the ceiling. Yeah... he was really going to miss the decor. “I’ll think about it. Tonight...Tomorrow I promise I will go to you with my answer.” Vantas searches his eyes and after a few seconds pass he seems satisfied with what he finds. Surely he must be blind to the prince’s desperation and he wants to implore that Vantas search longer.

 But, he does not, “Alright then.” His cheeks force a small smile, it stirs something in the heart of the man with the too expensive robes. It’s not dazzling, too wide or toothy, and yet, something churns inside him. “It is supposed to be a rather cold night you may want to ensure there will be enough coals in the bed pan for my return.” David makes his way to the doorway to make his leave. He lied. He has already made his decision known. In fact this whole debacle of dress up was to make the announcement over the radio. Tomorrow he has plans to depart for Austria. He vows to leave Vantas a note. He owes him his thanks for all these years…

 _"DAVE._ ”

  He turns quickly expecting Vantas to stop him, maybe he did figure it out… but there is nothing there. The room sways and then with a snap collapses in on itself.

  _"DAVE._ I GOT UP AT LIKE 5AM TO MAKE ALL THESE GODDAMN PANCAKES, YOU BEST GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE.”

 

* * *

 

 

 The homeroom bell rang and John felt himself roll his eyes. It was Friday, but like clockwork Karkat was late to school. The room settled and everyone took their seats while John scanned the street outside by the window. Early March has had an onslaught of rain storms, but today the sun is out and the very tiniest sprouts of flowers are threatening to bloom any day now. John kneads his bottom lip under his overbite. Hopefully Karkat can sneak in before the home room teacher takes notice. The rants Mr. Thompson comes up with can almost rival Karkat's if not for the lack of cursing.

 His attention is brought back to the front board when their homeroom teacher _does_ make his way across the front and drops his stuff as well as his over-used coffee mug on his desk. He sighs to himself and that’s when John notices the kid in the trusty tow of the teacher. He’s standing aloof, a few feet away and he's wearing aviators in school. What a weirdo.

 The kid is lounging back a few steps from the teacher in standard jeans and a bright orange hoodie with black trimmings. His color is such a rich and dark brown that it makes his clothes brighten and pop against the contrast of his skin. What John finds interesting is the sprung curls. Sure John loves shamelessly teasing Karkat about how curly his hair is, but this kid’s curls are sprung tighter and thicker. Not to mention they are a bright yellow. But seriously who wear shades indoors? They still have quite a _few_ weeks ‘til summer.

 The teacher has his back turned and John’s sharp pranking focus comes to attention. It would be so easy to... _That’s_ when the new kid sticks his shoes out just right and wham. Art strikes. Mr. Thompson  takes a front nose dive straight into the floor, splayed like a child in the snow. He grumbles half asleep and seems to believe it was his own clumsiness that landed himself there. (This is beautiful.) Everyone in the classroom is stareing now, but they can’t exactly tell him otherwise since they hadn’t been paying attention. John sure as heck doesn’t have plans to say anything.

 Mr. Thompson stands only to brush himself off and then facepalms. "Ugh I forgot to make copies. I'll be right back. Could you do me a favor and introduce yourself?" He scrambles to get out the door. The new kid belatedly waves at their teacher a small good-bye and turns his shades back to the muffled chortling that is John. He is too busy sitting by the window trying to cover his own laughing, than to say much else and the kid turns to the board and plucks the red maker by the bottom corner. He neatly writes the name D A V E in block letters and silently turns back to face the classroom. They've gone back to chattering and don’t seem to take notice of this turn of events. Eventually, John wipes away the tears from the corner of his eyes and is still smiling when the kid leaves his position and takes the seat by him.

 The kid, Dave, slouches against the back of his chair and nods in John’s direction . "Ya always this easy to entertain?"

 They chat, amiably, and as John’s eyes are drawn to Dave’s headphones, there comes up the age old question, used by millions to see if an individual deserves their attention: What kind of music do you like? Dave, looking down and then slowly hugging John’s figure with his eyes, opens his lips, leans over, and says, “Techno. Rap. The kinda art that Daft Punk is able to spit out every few years. Shit like that. You?” And from then on, John has found himself a kindred spirit.

 The atmosphere is broken when heavy steps come outside the door, and many straighten out and tuck phones away in anticipation of the teacher, but with far too much force and far too much noise, stands the small figure of their late classmate, and not, in fact, their teacher. Karkat finally made it. The diminutive figure of the grumpy, red eyed oddball is breathing heavily and has his eyes bugging out of his head, and he’s staring _directly at Dave._

 He’s looking particularly rough, clothes mussed up and stinking of bleach and cleaner even from here, hair forever untamed, and bags tugging down on his eyes like heavy weights. His expression is clearly shocked, mouth open and showing off straight teeth, and by the time he blinks and straightens himself out, his breath is shallow and his hair is hanging in front of his face. Hands visibly shaking, Karkat walks over to where John and Dave are seated.

 It’s one of those mornings, John thinks, shoulders tensing up at the voice and the image of his friend. They were starting to get worse. John never wanted to ask too much about Karkat's life outside of school. Years of being friends and Karkat still doesn't like to talk about his home life much. John tries to invite him over as much as possible and his Dad has grown quite fond of having Karkat around. It helps that he likes to help so much with chores, but they both worry about Karkat going back home. He never seemed to eat enough and always looked exhausted, just like now. Karkat’s eyes are huge even without bags and dented eye-sockets.

 Hollowly, his knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the strap of his backpack he says quietly, “You’re in my seat.” There’s no ire in his voice, or _anything_ for that matter, as if he can’t muster the energy to pretend.

 John finds himself being the one who gets up from his desk,"Hey Karkat. You okay?" He moves to get a better look at Karkat's face. "Are you feeling sick?" Up close,  Karkat really does seem pale. Maybe a trip to the Nurse's office would be a good idea. He lifts a hand to his forehead trying to remember what his Dad would do to check if he was sick. Karkat leans against it, eyes fluttering in time with his shuddery inhale for a moment before affixing back to Dave.

 John is so distracted with running through what he should do when the new kid clears his throat.  Dave has an eyebrow quirked over his shades. His grin is leaning on one side of his face, but then just for a moment… it slips. He seems to pause, but then stands up with a quick, "Don’t worry about it, man." before moving to take the seat behind John's desk. That sure felt weird.

 Mr. Thompson chooses that moment to enter the room and John makes the choice to pester Karkat about the nurse later. He wasn’t going to get Karkat very far while class is running. John slowly takes his seat, but doesn’t stop glancing over at Karkat who took his seat in silence. The poor thing creaks at the force, and when he drops onto it, he melts like putty. Dave seems indifferent now. He has his head turned towards the open window, and John wants to ask, but soon forgets about what as soon as their teacher demands their attention.

 Their teacher cleans off the board in a scramble and Karkat still hasn’t lifted his head to make a snide comment.

 Several minutes later, John has begun to notice Karkat’s peeking back. Said peeks, are being directed at the new kid. While their teacher is distracted at his desk John leans over to whisper, “Yeah, sorry he’s new.’ And then, adds, “OH, but Karkat you missed it he totally tripped the teacher like I always said I would if I was close enough.." Their teacher is fumbling with packets of paper and organizing it heavily on the front table. Hopefully, Karkat is off the hook since their teacher never mentioned anything about Karkat’s sudden appearance. It becomes apparent while their teacher takes roll call in that boring monotone they have all come to lovingly ignore.

 John picked his hand up as the teacher said, “Edwards” and checks on Karkat from the corner of his eye. Karkat always hated visits to the nurses so maybe John would just have to keep an eye on him for the day. It was the weekend so he could always invite him over and they could gorge on junk and play games until the early morning. Or maybe just put Karkat to bed. Sheesh he looked like he needed a nap. Dave lifts his hand as their teacher listlessly names off, “Strider.” John attempts to assess if Karkat has fallen asleep before his name is called, but sure enough Karkat raises his hand at, "Vantas."

 By the time the disgrace of a math class finishes, about half of the school is flooding towards the cafeteria in the center of their school. John is lingering by Karkat, watching over like an apprehensive mother and touching the small of his back. Karkat keeps moving with his bag slung over his shoulder under John’s bag. He took the bag before John could and John has been keeping a hand on him as silent support the whole walk out of the classroom. Karkat and his darker haired companion didn’t follow the herds of people going to the lunchroom and opted on weaving through corridors and lockers to _somewhere._ They twist around a bend, and stumble across Dave, even if Karkat doesn’t look as surprised as John was.

 As if staring at a purple skinned pygmy, Karkat can’t help but continue staring at the new boy.  John’s eyes flicker from Dave and Karkat, and the boy shifts on his feet, before Karkat speaks, “Dave.” It catches Dave’s attention. John is left baffled for a bit about the name. John can’t imagine that they had a moment to talk during class and the board was erased while Karkat was half asleep this morning, so he’s not sure if Karkat ever even caught Dave’s name.

 Karkat barely misses a beat, after he and Dave lock eyes. There’s a faint buzz in the air, prickling at the back of John’s neck. “I want to say sorry for getting you out of your seat. And I wanted to ask you if you would eat lunch with us.” Karkat leans on a nearby locker, his shaking fingers hold onto the straps of their bags and he looks like he is trying to blink away a film of sleep over his eyes. Jeez. Karkat really needs some sleep. But just that whole sentence was… this is not Karkat Vantas who is apologizing and being all friendly. There wasn't even a single stream of incoherent fumbling to go along with it. It's abnormal.  One close look at Karkat shows that while he is wary, he is being absolutely serious. Something in the way his jaw tightens after speaking up, shows that for some reason this is very important to him. Huh. Well if it's important to him then it's important to John. John turns his grin towards Dave. John’s taller than the both of them, but it's only an inch difference with Dave’s height. But with his best buddy, it’s a good four inches downwards.

 Dave seems to regard them both with curiosity. His shades are tipping off his nose. His brow furrows when he opens his mouth, but he seems to think better of it before he pushes his shades back up and runs his hand through his curls. "Ye’. I could do that." He shuts his locker with a tap of his heel and sticks his hands into his sweater’s front pocket. He just kind of droops his shoulders and moves to walk in the direction of the cafeteria with Karkat scuffling along at the rear, but John is practically skipping by Dave’s side.  John is actually surprised by his own energy. John’s wound up with sudden might and he checks back at the smallest of them, who is following in a silent pace that starts to worry on John’s nerves.

 Karkat gets himself some fruit, and some milk, before John’s stern eye intervenes and he forces himself to grab chicken nuggets, (that are more sawdust than meat, really) before sitting them down in a seat to the right of the room, near the exit. John’s about to piss himself from happiness; it’s a substantial meal. John grabs a PBJ sandwich and Dave gets some pizza, and without a moment’s hesitation, apple juice with an odd shine in his eyes.

 Dave regards them both before taking a seat across Karkat and him.

 “So.” Karkat says, reaching out to hold John’s hand, and rubbing its flesh with his fingers; A coping mechanism he’s recently developed. “Mind telling me about yourself…Dave?” He says it like it tastes odd to his tongue, unnatural, and he purses his lips. “I’m Karkat Vantas, by the way, if—If this fucking human sized chipmunk hasn’t clued you in while you gossiped like fucking school girls.”

 Karkat is so quick to start introducing himself it's startling for a moment. Being friendly with someone besides John. It was almost unnerving and most definitely out of the norm. His stomach does a small twist...Was Karkat getting bored of him? It’s not bad to make friends and it’s not like he should be so hesitant to share Karkat. Karkat is loud, but he's got a kindness about him that deserves to be shared. He quickly stuffed a corner of the sandwich into his mouth so he wouldn’t be expected to make any sort of response any time soon, even if he keenly pays attention to what’s going on.

 Dave seemed to bristle at his name being called out, and is just beginning to piece himself together. "Well ya know the Dave, but the last name's Strider." A Texan drawl curls around Dave’s tongue and he pauses to watch John swallow awkwardly. Dave chugs some apple juice, treating it like the ambrosia of the gods.

 Karkat seems almost _hesitant_ of Dave, the way the corners of his mouth are just so tight, and the  whole nervous petting thing really kind of sends a red flag. It’s something that John has just barely learnt to pick up on, and he is trying to get better at it. Karkat carefully inspects John’s hands, his probing touches and glances roam over John’s knuckles and around his nails, feeling the arm hairs that are creeping onto the back of John’s hand. He’s diligent in his attention, to say the least. John lets Karkat's hand ground his feelings with the small ministrations, because it makes both of them feel a whole lot better.

 “Well no shit.” He says, after Dave takes a gulp of his juice. “I kinda heard it bellowed out in class. Not willing to fucking divulge anything else from your classified past?” John just kind of tilts his head in confusion while Karkat goes on, “What is it this time? Expelled from a spy academy, lost your parents to supposed mages, hitchhiking all over the country, just trying to find the right place where you, and your family, fit in?” Karkat isn’t even touching his food, and given from his earnest, but boring stare that’s directed briefly to the other, it doesn’t seem like he will _at all_.

 With Karkat retorting in a manner that sounds much more like himself, John eases into relaxed normalcy. He takes a quick sip of milk before removing his hand from Karkat's grasp and ruffling Karkat's unruly locks. Karkat attempts to flee into his own neck with a loud, displeased sound, like something a cat would utter while it’s being tormented by three toddlers. Static electricity gathers around John’s fingertips, but he decides to be kind today, and not use it on his suffering, turtle necked friend. And no. He doesn’t mean turtle-neck as in the shirt style that Karkat seems fond of, but that weird thing turtles do while sinking into their own submerged torsos. John stops, and Karkat’s head starts to creep up, and, _gasp,_ there was a human under there! Of course, Karkat swats John’s hand in recompose, not even attempting to fix his own hair.

 "Jeez, Karkat the kid's brand new he doesn’t need an interrogation." John loves watching Karkat's reactions and finds himself staring too much before he remembers there is someone else at the table. He clears his throat before turning back to Dave. Karkat is currently trying to look fearsome while resembling a lion. Damn was his hair a riot. "But hey yeah sorry. Karkat's just a bit of a crab, but he means well.”

 Karkat’s brows pull down and he interrupts with, “Well how do you know? What part of ‘Spy Academy’ did you goddamnit accomplish, Ed-nerd?” Karkat pauses, but moves past his verbal blunder quickly enough.

 John speaks back, as Karkat’s face twitched. “Aaaaaaaand we weren’t gossiping Karkat. Dave mentioned he was interested in the new Daft Punk Album coming out." He turns expectantly towards Dave as if to back him up. Wow since when did he get so friendly with the new kid as well?? Karkat must be infectious with his mood today.

 Dave does perk up at the mention of the album. "While I ain’t sure my backstory is much to gawk at. I love swords, apple juice, and long walks on the beach." He eases back to lean on the palms of his hands. "As for the inquiry of gossiping, well I've only been here a day. Not much to gossip about." He pointedly is looking down at Karkat, across from him, and his shades ease down to flash a vibrant red eye color, brighter than Karkat’s maroon. "But your boyfriend has great taste in music." Each word has emphasis as it is punched out with as much insinuation as possible.

 And just like that John goes frigid. Karkat goes pink. Heh wow okay. That was... _wait what?_ Karkat glances at one of the side walls, and goes back to staring right at Dave, avoiding his eyes, while John tries rebooting. “No, we don’t like _swords_ in the same way you do, bird-brain. Stop being smart and start fucking eating your gluten free pizza. The fucking day this fuckbucket—” A hard prod in the back of John’s hand. “--Gets good music taste, is the day Satan, in all of his loincloth-clad glory, will be doing fucking donuts in his now-frigid backyard.”

 By the time John comes back online, there’s the faint after tingles of touch in his hand from being poked, but when looking at Karkat he notices the boy looks a little warm. Hopefully Karkat isn't actually sick. His own face seems hot, but it must be getting warm in here or something. John just moves his arm to lean his elbow on the table and oops that's a miss. He almost smacks his face on the top of the table. Haha okay now his face is getting warm, but he's just making a fool of himself. He looks back up into his own reflection in Dave's shades. "Haha ha. Ha... Yeah no man. No. No homo." John makes a big swiping motion with both his hands and turns his head side to side to emphasize his point, shaggy hair smacking his cheeks. “And,  uh, uh, uh.. _OH_. Not that there's anything wrong with that stuff or anything, I mean, I know people who are gay and they are totally cool people and I know they’re everywhere and, really, if there was a Pride in town I’ll totally go to it..." He's rambling. Damn it. He looks Dave up and down and while Dave doesn't really seem like the type of kid that would come out of the closet he doesn't want to offend him or anything. Besides he and Karkat are just the best of friends. Comrades. Pals.

 John doesn’t quite see it nor does he quite register, but Karkat goes uptight and thoughtful at John’s avid defenses, his index and middle fingers press down on the spots between John’s own, and remains holding on to him while he stares down Dave.

 There’s a pause, and John jumps in his seat to point a finger at the boy beside him, speaking solemnly, "Karkat. I have great taste in music.” Karkat snorts. “You've listened to Daft Punk with me before.”

 Dave seems satisfied with that response and idly grabs at the slice of cardboard on his tray and takes a deliberate bite. The pizza in their school really isn’t all that impressive even to the most desperate of student bodies. At least it is keeping his mouth busy a moment longer, John thinks, scratching his cheeks. Dave takes another gulp of his juice and half the container is now gone. Yeah he probably realized he was going to need to wash that stuff down with something.

 Karkat jumps back into the game, just as John’s mouth forms shapes, and, wow, _rude._ “John, if you honest to god smash your fucking head in because of your raging hard on for girls, I will benevolently finish you off myself.”His best friend raises his brows, and clasps his smaller, courser hands around John’s pointed finger.  John’s stern expression cracks. “I only listened to the abomination that is Daft Punk, because you were fucking holding the broom hostage, and in your dark, seedy, fetid heart, you know it.”

 And then, oh, oh, oh this _butt_ goes and stage whispers to Dave,“He’s a bit of a twit.” Karkat’s head leans back to nod in John’s direction, while John takes a bite of his sandwich with one hand. The other? Still in a vice grip of Karkat the Octopus. Dave’s expression twitches with amusement. _Et cu, Brute?_ (Was that how it goes??)

 " _HEY_." John doesn't know what he was going to say as a retort, but it dies on his tongue as his hand leeches comfort from Karkat's sweaty palm. Yeah, this guy is kinda the best thing ever. John can feel the smirk coming on. The one Karkat swears is the derpiest expression to ever be inflicted upon paradox space, but it's his own fault. Not that, John really believes his half-assed attempts at trying to keep his own returning smile down really works.

 He slumps against Karkat’s shoulders in over theatrical defeat. "Your face is a twit." Yeah, John is on a roll today. But in the end he knows that Karkat has him practically owned in terms of insults. The kid has always had the most winded vocabulary John has ever had the pleasure to face, but god it’s funny when he really gets into it. He tries for a scowl, but it feels out of place. He lets it slip off his face in an attempt to stifle his laughter.

 Dave’s mouth looks marginally quirked. It almost looks like a smile, but then he finishes his juice in another chug and looks back down at his tray. His slice has been picked off, the edges in great disrepair. Surely he has realized how impossible it would be to swallow cardboard without some sort of liquid. He scoots the tray away from himself with one of his fingers. "Well I'm glad we've established the label twit to befitting and all, but..." Dave stops, mulling something over.

 Karkat looks displeased by John’s expression. There’s rage and fondness all crumpled up into a few crinkles and twitches. And here comes Karkat’s scathing retort, one it seems everyone is expecting and eager for.  Even Dave, who goes ignored, is leaning forward just a _touch,_ “I think you’ve fucked up the goddamn pronouns on your crippling burn, because _I’m_ not the one who looks like he’s being fucked sideways by a fucking bara lemon sporting a Hulk strap-on because of his devastating body image problems.” John and Dave are smirking, looking at each other and Karkat’s rage oozes out and all that’s left is manic confusion. John’s lips rise up even more, no doubt making Karkat’s angry thoughts take a nose-dive into insanity. Karkat looks pained. As if he’s the sole intelligent person in this room. Pfft, but he’s just as big a dork when you get to know him.

 John and Dave continue to smile.

 Karkat yields. He clearly has the tiniest smile in return, despite how he sucked in his lips, and then leaned on an arm, not-so subtly hiding the hand of his juvenile buddy behind his palm. And then he reaches out to bite the skin-flesh of one of his fingers, to clearly _stop_ this unreasonable slip in his nigh-omnipresent grumpiness.

 Karkat Smiled. John is the hero. It is him. Karkat smiling is like the best thing ever. Karkat’s expression goes and does this thing where it pulls up and his eyes crinkle up and he doesn’t look tired or pained, only _happy._ He, personally, prides himself on this accomplishment and plays the Legend of Zelda chest theme in his head. _Wait._ That wasn't in his head... John feels his side pocket vibrate. With a quick glance he sees a message from his Dad asking about plans this weekend. _Oh yeah._ He was supposed to be asking Karkat about spending the night. Yet here he was being a goof. Per the norm.Dave seems to brighten up at the Zelda theme, and John waggles his phone at the other boy with a small wink..

 Dave pokes his tray once more pointedly, "Is there an actual place to get food around here?"

 John looks up from typing back to his father with a,“There’s...” But Karkat butts in with a glare directed at John.

 Karkat turns back to Dave, “There’s a Wendy’s maybe five minutes away, somewhere towards the back of the school, and a whole bunch of cafés and diners behind that. Which poison will you fucking guzzle, arboreal infant fucker?”

 Brilliance strikes John’s noggin. "Oh dude. If you wanna grab food after school we could walk around a bit and show you around." John turns to express this last bit towards Karkat. "Man I was planning on asking you if you wanted to do the usual movie night, but we could make it a whole afternoon of just chilling." John is making new friends and it is so awesome. Not that Karkat isn't the best, but the both of them need to expand their social circles. And Dave seems pretty cool.

 "I'd be down to chill for the day. What is a lonely princess like myself to do in my time of need. Without my trusty tour guides? Surely I would be left in peril." Dave lifts one of his hands over his forehead to gesture for affect, but his tone doesn’t express his flare.

 Karkat visibly swallows before sitting up straighter on the bench, “After school? Psh. Let’s just go fucking now.” He says this while dragging John and Dave up. He _never_ approves of John skipping, and yet, lookie here??? Maybe John should travel the planet. Find people Karkat wants to be friends with, so they can skip the whole school year.  

 One of Karkat’s hands keeps on holding John’s own, and the other, is holding Dave’s dark wrist with unwavering strength. Up close, Karkat stinks heavily similar to a Janitor’s closet, but he doesn’t seem to care. He turns on his heels, let’s go of the boys, and bends slightly at the waist. His voice _lilts_ just right. “Fair Princess Dave, Fair Princess Dave, with your silken locks, Sir Karkat and Heir to the throne, John, shall lead thee to a place most sacred, most magnificent.” He goes breathless, as if in wonderment, as he straightens out and his curls bounce.  “The bosom of the bar wench Wendy, and into the gentle embraces of her brazen minions, that of Madame Cinema, and Lady Film. What say you to this?”

 Dave pauses for a moment, his expression is hard to read with the shades resting on his nose, but he eventually responds, “I say... you’re a bunch of goddamn chili-cheese balls. Not the good kind, as in Paul’s Neighbourhood Diner, but the kind of shit that’s thrown into the dumpster as the reject pile. Never to grace their bottoms on a fake porcelain throne. But sure. What the hell.” Even from a hundred miles out, John could have seen the roots of a comeback tearing through Karkat, erupting from his body.

 John likes having another friend.

 

* * *

 

 

 Wow. And Dave thought _he_ was deep in the closet, back when he was in Houston. Shorty getting all flustered was pretty funny to watch. Although, the kid needs to find himself an industrial-steel comb and brush combo. Pronto. But, sweet cheezus crust. Dave thought they were supposed to be more liberal up here, but he wonders if maybe the phrase 'no homo' was inscribed in the caves of the first homo-sapiens, making it a natural universal constant in life. Dave could pester them more, but really it's almost too easy.

 Something about Karkat’s Joke settled like a punch in his gut. _~~He wanted Vantas to stop him.~~_

 He swallows and feels the obvious lack of holy nectar in his throat. He misses that dang apple juice. As quickly as it came, it was gone. He allows Karkat to drag him along by one of his hands and he fiddles with the headphones in his pocket with the other. It would probably be best to see where this is going. Wouldn't want to jump to any more conclusions and stir up the hornet's nest. Karkat just kinda leads them off to one of the cafeteria’s side doors and Dave is horribly grateful for his shades when the sun is upon them like an unholy flash of hell.

 There are other kids outside, all eating and talking, too busy to really pay attention to them and Karkat continues to pull both him and John over to the side of the school and to a messy row of bushes. John is following Karkat like this is common practice, but his expression is one of a child getting away with staying up an hour past bedtime. When Karkat finally re-releases his grip,  he sticks his thumb back to regard the bushes and most likely explain what they are doing by the menacing looking vegetation before John loudly interrupts. With a slap of a hand on Dave’s shoulder he proceeds to be shoved through the bushes. A rock catches Dave’s sneaker by surprise and he yelps before landing in a small clearing with an oomph.

 Squish. His palms come down on something plush like foam. He looks down to see what broke his fall. Mats. Those horribly flat-pancake mats they make people try acrobatics on in gym class, but really all the kids ever do are cartwheels and somersaults. The colors are faded, they stink, and while Dave is not dead from the 3 foot drop he is miffed, “Dude! What the H, E, double hockey sticks!”

 John is giving away all of his breath to a horrible snicker as he easily jumps over the rocks on the ledge and down to the mat where Dave landed. “Sorry. Didn’t think you’d fall so hard. You should try to be a little less clumsy, ya know?” He lifts his hands up like he is actually confused by the result of his imp-like behavior.

 Karkat looks like he wants to feel pity as he peers down at Dave, but considering the roll of his eyes, this is just how the dork functions. On dumb slap-stick humor, no less. Karkat continues as if Dave isn’t laying, belly down, 3 feet below him, “All right now that John has given your weak-willed heart cardiac arrest, I was going to explain this leads down to the fast food square.” He chooses to just lean over the ledge and step down onto the mats, “There’s a bunch of shit we can fool around with there and enough junk food to quench the thirst of any of your choice of addictions. Now get your lazy ass up.” Karkat’s foot prods Dave’s hip. Rude. “Gym class is going to start soon and we don’t want to be found literally lounging on the mats right outside the damn school.”

 Dave grumbles as he sits himself up, but then notices something poking at his head. He looks up to see John offering him a hand. The kid has ridiculous baby blues for eyes that can’t be obscured even when framed in ghastly green specs. The glasses looked like they were made to glow in the dark even in just the shade of the trees. Dave takes John’s hand, “I’d say thanks, but considering your nature it would make more sense to return the favor.” He pulls down hard and the sudden movement is enough to get Edwards to fall down on the ground beside Dave. Point for Dave.

 John’s face slips into a more serious expressions as his eyebrows come down.  “Of course, ya know?.. Thi-th mean-ths war.” He leans over to grab Dave’s shades, on the other side of the mat, and hands them back to him.

 Dave takes them from John and in a utter monotone both Dave and Karkat respond, “That was the worst Daffy Duck…”

 John snorts laughter while the other two boys make pointed quizzical looks in each other’s direction. He takes a moment to breathe before he continues with, “Jinx!...” He wipes his face to catch his breath before jumping off the mats and off in a direction, “Onward troops!” He’s shouting even though they are literally right next to him and then dashes forward. The trees and bushes sway in the breeze.

 John’s gone. Vanished into the distance and the sunset. Karkat looks murderous, cracking his knuckles until those urges seem to pass. Such a temper on the tiny one. That dastardly handsome head turns Dave’s way and he barely manages to restrain himself from those purple rimmed eyes, “Do you need me to hold your hand and lead you like the blind or do you think you can manage?” His voice is dripping with sarcasm so heavy Dave’s sure Atlas would struggle to lift it.

 “I don’t know man.” Dave says, looking at his hands with a lost expression, and then sidling over to Karkat. “I mean, that’s a fine deal you’re carrying. Real erotic. Y’know there’s a tribe of people in New York who say that hand holding is like third base?” Dave moves to outstretch a hand with a flourish, brows waggling. Karkat actually _chokes_ , thumping his poor little chest. Went a little too quick after that little booty.

 After Karkat seems to gain his bearings, he coughs before answering,“Dave.” Dave stands up at attention. “If you fucking do that again, you will find your fucking nethers breached in a way that will not cause you to moan in pleasure, but writhe and howl in complete and utter _distress._ ” Dave’s can’t help the quirk of an incredulous eyebrow. Karkat’s eyes are a pair of lasers boring into his face. “ _No._ ” Karkat punctures, and it carries with it the blobby mass of a whole blackhole. Fine, jeez, captain-man. Don’t want this? Fine, go pine after Buck McDorkocson, you’ll have to map Narnia to locate that rumpus. Dave will travel to fairer and kinder pastures.

 Still, Dave doesn’t speak, and after a moment, Karkat goes a bit pink and looks away. “...Let’s just go after him before he jumps down a hole and dies, or something.” Dave nods and returns his shades to his face.. He completely and utterly agrees, and wonders if the nugget didn’t go and sprain something already. He’s fucked off to god knows where, and this land is harsh and perilous for children.

 It’s after several minutes of Karkat-worrying (which consists of hissing and frantic looking and cursing and mumbled rants that make Dave itch for a paper and pen) that John is found, on a sidewalk, snooping by a bunch of young adults. Their are all oohing and aahing at some rich kid’s new phone. Karkat takes John by the ear and drags John away. Dave finds that John yelps like a little puppy. Its pretty fitting with his personality.

 On the way to Wendy’s, John goes on and on about the new IPhone. All the while Karkat increasingly starts to appear more like a sugar daddy trying to please his baby. Dave has no idea how he got into this hot mess, but if he can get his hands on the money Karkat seems to be miming, Dave will be happy and elated for the rest of his life.

 God. John doesn’t deserve this little bundle, Karkat flutters close and starts discussing John’s daydreams seriously. Starts avidly arguing for John to get more goodies. Starts debating how much fast food John is allowed now. His hands roaming gently and prodding and patting and petting. His features scream Hindu and even with all the expression Dave can see this kid is pretty damn fine. But alas, Karkat remains glued, looking with all of the care in the world at John, but when he presses for more John responds, “ _No, no, Karkat, I was just joking, okay?”_ Seriously. He almost wants to save this presh little homo from this endless game.

_(It’s hard to keep brittle bones from ever breaking.)_

 The sun beats against the earth. It's staring them down as they all skip school, in favour of going to cheap ass fast food. It’s hilarious, in a way, since all Dave thought he’ll be doing today is stewing in his own fat and misery and learning facts he most likely learned on his own. That’s still a thing, but instead of facts about math and Columbus and diffusion, it’s shit about what kind of food John likes, what kind of movies Karkat despises, and that one time John got scared by his own fart.

 “Ew. John. Ew.” Dave says to that last one, bumping into his shoulder, and he feels like he has something when John starts defending himself with a miff in his voice and Karkat joins in on his side with something about avoiding kinkshaming.

 Wendy’s isn’t anything special, and the door dings open as they come in. It’s some grey haired lady at the counter, intently staring down at her tiny phone screen. She looks up, half interested, color drained from her eyes, she slumps against the counter, before forcing her head up with a smile. Know that feel, sister, know that feel.

 While the oblivious dorks bicker Dave makes a point of ordering his food first, spicy chicken sandwich and a coke, before saluting his posse to go visit the porcelain throne. He is totally thinking about making a pun about using the John when he gets back. The bathroom is really not much different than every other Wendy’s in the country. Horribly colored tiles, giant-ass mirror, dingy stalls, a large puddle of unknown origin gestating the floor; he takes care of business at one of the urinals and turns around to get at a sink to wash his hands. Still got dirt from the friggin mats coating his mitts. Shit is dank. Mountain of soap later, he can’t really help, but look up at the mirror. His shades are crooked and he runs his wet hands through his curls for a quick pat down before adjusting them. Yeah he is still all that and a bag of chips. Amen. Of course he’s on his way out when his shoes betray him. He’s literally in the doorway when one misstep sends him stumbling and he flails a hand out to catch himself on the door, but oh would you look at that wet hands don’t exactly have much grip. He is on the ground for the second time today. This is becoming embarrassing.

 When Dave looks up to see who he has to kill for witnessing his shortcomings his eyes meet up with none other than Karkat, himself. Except the kid is wearing a surprised mock expression and jeez Dave knew they were jokesters, but how long was he planning on holding that face. Dave gets it. He’s a clumsy dumbass. When Dave shoves his hands on the ground to pick himself up he shudders at the touch between the wet floor and his hands. There is no dignity in reconciling with hygiene. Might as well power through this. Although, when he walks up to the other kid, Karkat seems determined not to change his expression. Not even a twitch or a retort. Just frozen silence…, “All right you had your fun. Stop being such an ass.” He attempts to playfully shove at Karkat’s shoulder, but the boy remains transfixed in his position.

 Dave looks back in the direction of the counter at John. Who is standing absolutely still while staring down at his sneakers and leaning against a table. The whole room is void of sound and Dave notices the women behind the counter is unmoving, but has a hand outstretched towards her purse. Everyone is just making their best impressions of statues and ha yeah this really isn’t funny anymore. Dave lifts his shades to rest on his head as he saunters over to Edwards. “John, this is your dumbest prank yet…” He waves a hand in front of John’s glasses, but the jackass doesn’t move. For one tense moment, Dave holds his breath. Nothing happens. He feels himself sweat on the spot. Sure he sometimes loses track of time, but this is ridiculous. He starts to pace back and forth checking if anyone has begun to start moving. Maybe if he blinks enough everything will go back to normal. Jesus. His eyes are starting to tear up from wincing too hard. He can’t convince himself to put his shades on. He needs to wake up. He didn’t screw up this bad. He doesn’t know how to fix this.

 His arms are gripping his elbows and he feels himself fold in on himself. He should have found a way to fix this sooner, but how could he have known it was going to get this bad. It's too quiet… the air feels too stale and then with a sharp stab to his abdomen he does collapse on himself. His knees are both on the floor and there’s a second sharp twist in his gut before he’s got his hands down on that grimy tile. His breaths are coming in more haggard and he knows he needs to stop this. Needs to let go. Of course he doesn’t know how. He pushes himself off the ground with as much energy as he can muster and crashes forward, right into Vantas. A bubble in his head snaps and he’s looking up at a rapidly blinking Karkat. There’s muffled noises filling his ears again and it is blessed. There's still tears glossing his eyes and grimacing hurts his face but he tries because he almost lost his cool back there, “Sup?”

 

* * *

 

 

 Everything should have been perfect today. Their merry little fucking crew of two had become three, John’s smile gained another molar or two, and Karkat’s squirming soul had gone and thought, _hey, if I leave, at least John has another person to rely on._ It still holds true, but as he’s here, staring down a panting, red-faced, and clearly _pained_  Dave, he goes and thinks that just _maybe_ he needs to pour some more work into this human mess than he first thought. “Get your ass up, you sorry sack of fucking _cocks.”_ He hisses, reaches out to pull Dave up, but unlike with the case of his harsh words, his touch is gentle, trying not to aggravate burning, aching areas. He’s been described many times how much exerting oneself hurts with wielders, and he’s not exactly fucking _fond_ of the idea of hurting the boy even more.

 Karkat hauls the kid to his feet, and looks back at a stunned John and Lady, and merely mutters an ‘Excuse me’ before hurrying back to the bathroom from which Dave came, half dragging his wobbly passenger. He unceremoniously drops Dave by the bathroom wall, leaving him to find a grip, and then shuts the door behind him and stands in front of it, to _keep_ it closed. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, the sounds of Dave’s harsh breaths soon become the only noise in the bathroom. The boy’s quiet, he’s staring down at Karkat, he can fucking _feel_ it. _(Just like he can feel and hear and see Dave’s baby heart flutter at greater speeds, fearful and nervous and aching.)_

 “H-Hey, what’s the heckers was that for?” Dave asks, trying to keep the air full of humour, but as Karkat’s maroon eyes affix to him, his body sags and he attempts to straighten himself out. He, gingerly, holds an arm over his midsection and _is_ fucking supporting all his weight against the wall. Curling pokerface be damned.

 However, as Karkat’s face goes soft, and he beckons Dave closer, Dave loses some of his tenseness. For all Dave and everyone else can see, Karkat is a small, grumpy little child, and that helps him out, as he reaches out and lays a hand on Dave’s pained stomach. Dave flinches away, but as Karkat’s hand doesn’t move any further, he looks down, intrigued. Karkat sends out a little probe, trying to feel if anything has twisted or _broken_ , but as he comes up empty handed, he wills Dave’s pain to be _soothed_.

 Sure enough, given from Dave’s wide eyes and gaping mouth just a second later, his old hands still got it. Karkat pulls back his hand and one last red spark sputters and dies in the air, as Karkat steps back to the door and puts on a careful expression.

 “Dave, what do you know of what we are?”


	3. I desire liberty

(20??)

 

Typically the jobs Karkat took were good. Karkat knew where to look, which kinds of people to ask, and what to do if it turns out bitches were fibbing. He avoided mouths full of too many molars, or too few, and skipped on along if someone’s eyes roamed over his form for too long, or if people would talk about him like he wasn’t even there. Well that would be the norm, but seeing as he’s in D.C. and it’s the new millennium, he doesn’t heed those kind of calls that much. Not like 1868 Australia, where the nearest thing around is some fucking rich guy’s home, a professional thief, and kangaroos.

Still, at times it’s difficult. Sometimes when he crawls home after a Saturday full of cleaning and scrubbing and picking up people’s literal shit, with his limbs trembling and body in dire need of a shower( _not_ a fucking coldass hose down) and all he wants to do in this goddamn shit city is lie down and sleep. And then he remembers he has to pick up meds for Janine. Has to meet up with John at the Dairy Queen. Has to fix up that broken pipe by himself, and only himself. Has to march his ass to his desk, look at his taxes, at his funds, and how much John will need for himself when he’s grown. Upper middle class he might be, but that’s not fucking enough to buy a Batmobile decked out with a chocolate fountain, or whatever kind of inane bullshit he’ll need when little John becomes big fucking John. ( _JohnJohnJohn, you’re the John or a John?_ )

Karkat needs to think how much a funeral service would cost, if worst comes to worst, and how much a ticket to Brazil and a new life would cost in this current economy.  

Karkat had settled into somewhat of a regime, before that day in the spring of 8th grade. In fact, he’d come to school stinking of bleach and cleaner because he _had_ just been leaning and blocking out some information his broker had been waggling off his tongue. Jumping up and down trying to clean out a stubborn cobweb. The bastard was sitting on the only chair in the room, and he was fucking getting _off_ from Karkat’s suffering, he could swear to the almighty wrathful gods reclining in heaven. Japanese bastard couldn’t get any fun any other fucking way, so instead, he apparently lived to torment small children. Braindead creep, great, not like Karkat will be his fucking bitch for any longer. Sweet fifteen, Karkat can see you over the fucking horizon, crawling up like a crimson salvation.

But, all of that was… Fucked up when he met Dave. A new one. Dave, who _wasn’t supposed to be here._ Almost always, it’s one at a time. One at a time, and if not, then it’s a brother and a sister or a father and a mother. And yet, here he is, alive and smirking and laughing and just a itty bitty little kid with a mind that’s as frail as the quivering chest of a baby bird. Karkat will provide for him too. Karkat will love him too. Karkat will protect him and teach him and do everything foul and fetid for him too. He has to. Because otherwise, Karkat doesn’t know what will happen next.

From that day, Karkat stopped paying for his cable and his wifi. What’s the point if he won’t have enough free time to sit down in front of the tv and have his brain picked clean from mindless entertainment?

It’s impressive how much a person can not sleep before their liver start shutting down.

It’s not the hardest he’s worked, far from it, but he’s grown lax and easy through the last few years. He works. He gets paid. He works. He gets paid. He works. He gets paid. He works. He gets paid.

Sometimes he goes to bed, and tries to find solace in, ‘Tomorrow is another day.’ And yet, it’s difficult to find comfort in that, when tomorrow and today and yesterday has blurred together into colour and shadows and blood.

This is nothing new to him. Nothing is, anymore.

 

* * *

 

(2016)

 

“Jonathan you are regressing again…” Her tone was starting to really bug John. The school year was almost over so he was getting real creative about stuff to do. He was having a fine time just talking about his planned weekend, hanging out with his friends, but he was ignoring the elephant in the room. Why the hell couldn’t anyone just say it? Why couldn’t he _just_ say it?

“Yeah. I’m babbling again. Going off on another rant while avoiding the point.” His shoulders felt a bit lackluster as buffs at the moment. He pulled his knees close to himself on the little couch seat, the squeak of leather doing nothing for his nerves. Usually Grace was a lot more gentle of a therapist when he started on his tangents, but even she was probably getting exhausted by his antics. Why was he such shit at this part?

“Hey… it's alright. As long as you can acknowledge what I meant when I asked the question. How are you feeling about this weekend?”

She held such a patient smile he felt bad. He was sure he would disappoint her again in the future. He was so bad at staying focused at times. But yeah, this weekend was the anniversary of the crash. He tightened his fingers to clutch at his shins, but no matter how tightly he pulled his grip he couldn’t find purchase. He needed to look away to respond. “Fine… I’m fine.”

She makes a humming sound and scribbles loudly on her neon pink clipboard. It's the one with sparkles and lately had started to remind him of Dave for some strange reason. Probably because of his ironic love for _My Little Pony_.

“Before we move on, perhaps we start with your mantra. It’s been some time and while we had hoped you would begin to talk about it on your own. Maybe you would prefer to talk about it in the only way you have felt comfortable, in the past. Do you want to try the…”

“YES.” Okay maybe he was a little bit hasty in cutting her off, but he couldn't help his enthusiasm. He would rather not actually be thinking about what to talk about. He doesn’t want to have to think too much about this at all. He’s making friends. He’s getting better, why does he still have to talk about it?

“Alright then.” She pulled out her little metronome. “Close your eyes…” He’s done this many times to get through his anxious feelings and had already sunk into the seat while steadying his breath. “...and concentrate on the sound of my voice...I am going to count backwards from 10 and with each number I want you to relax. Further and further with each number you will fall deeper into relaxation. Just relax. Let your worries fade. 10... 9… 8… everything is okay. You are not at fault.”

This is always the part John feels like he’s floating. He just lets everything stay on the ground and he tries to focus on his breathing. It’s the calmest tool in his arsenal and he sighs his frustrations out. “7… 6… 5…remember the darkness is just another comfort. 4… 3… 2… just focus on my voice… 1. Can you recite the mantra, for me again?”

“My name is John Edwards. My mother, Qìxí Edwards, was killed in a car accident. It was a bad storm. It was not my fault.”

“What was that last line? Repeat it for me?”

“It was not my fault. Not my fault.” It wasn’t just raining,“Not my fault” Tornado warning, how could they have known? “Not my fault.” The screech of the metal when the wind whipped the car on its side, “My fault.” So much red, he can’t pull her out, “My fault.”

“Shhhh. Not your fault.You couldn’t have caused the storm a size of an entire city.” She snapped her fingers, an old trigger they had practiced, and John felt himself go rigid and then lax against the seat once more. “It is okay to apologize. If it will help you feel better, but it is not your fault. Perhaps we need to go deeper.” John’s brow is furrowed, but as as she continues to talk he allows himself to follow the tone of her voice, “Follow my count down once more, 10… 9… 8…fall deeper into yourself, 7… 6… 5… do not resist your memories, 4… 3… 2… let yourself relax 1… Will it make you feel better to apologize for your mistake? ”

_I hope this puts in perspective how terrible you are,_ “Huh… yeah it kind of does. I’m sorry Karkat, I didn’t realize we screwed up so bad.”

Grace stops with scribbling for a moment to regard John, her lips pursing, eyes going tight at the edges, “Now that you have apologized I want you to follow my numbers back to me and awaken. 10… 9… 8… you will not think about what you have talked about, 7… 6… do not worry about it being your fault, 5… 4… 3… I want you to talk to me about your friends, 2… 1.”

John stretches his arms above his head. He loves sitting and talking about the his feelings in hypnosis because then he doesn’t have to think too much about any of that junk after. He can just freely talk. Grace reaches over to turn off the metronome and John stifles a small yawn, but stretches himself out, at ease on the little loveseat.

She smiles back at him and he feels like maybe he did something right this time because she looks pretty darn pleased,“Well I’m glad you look better, but where were we before? Oh! You were going to talk to me about your friends. So remind me again, which one is Karkat?”

 

* * *

 

(2016)

 

The summer breeze drifts through the grass lining the sidewalks and perspiration sticks to John’s forehead something fierce through the heat of the day. But having all the junk food in his arms is keeping his expression in a permanent grin. Karkat’s got the superior pile of fast food goods going, even if he’s smaller and scrawnier than John. The little guy always wins on arguments like these, and ends up looking like a medieval porter. Light in his step, John skips forward from the aforementioned little buddy, onto the sidewalk.

"Dude tonight is gonna be _so_ awesome." He has gotten taller in the last year and his shoulders have gotten wider so he is _so_ much more awkward in his actions. Almost like his body doesn't know what to do with the new height and build. Karkat likes to point out he’s got all the grace of a blind elephant being forced to perform in front of it’s sour aunt, broom and disappointment in hand. Karkat can also be a dumb jerk. John’s glasses are bright blue in the sunlight, and they are slipping off his nose thanks to all the sweating. The day is warm and humid. The wind whistles and moves to jostle John's hair in a frenzy. It’s combing his hair in wilder licks than usual and he looks downright ridiculous with the permanent squint of his baby blues in the day. Karkat, on the other hand? Nah, his friend who’s tagging along is seemingly stuck being 5’5, his mood fraying at each beat of the wind, and is scowling at anything and everything that moves. Gosh, maybe if Karkat _ate_ a little more, he wouldn’t be so little. But, in all honestly, smol and angry just seems to… Fit him? Yeah.

“ _Yeah, yeah_ tonight will be fucking awesome, when we get out of this _ungodly_ fucking weather, and in-blessed-doors, you _fucking_ dig, John?” But Karkat’s still grown older and developed, his small stature.He developing a slight build and it shows even when he is clad in cheaply made, ugly khakis, and a little sundress he’d told John that he’d found in a second hand store. When he responds it looks like he is licking sand off his teeth and louring. The shirt is like a tunic on him, and it’s got a floral pattern all painted in bright tourist-y colours. This, combined with the flip-flops that are already on their way onto being ragged and useless, make his pal look like a thrift shop barfed on him. The odor of sweat, cheap, fattening burgers, and the musk that comes from not washing his hair for a few days is wafting in the air. John needs to force Karkat into taking a shower when they get home, ASAP.

Luckily, Karkat didn’t make the mistake that John did, and tied his hair up into a miniature ponytail, keeping it off his neck. His usual mop of curls were bundled as well as they could be and it was getting the reactions of  grandmas, who cooed at him as he walked by. It was kind of hilarious. Of course, the elastic threatened to release whenever a strong gust came by. Karkat growled and patted his hair into submission each time it trembled and wobbled on his head.

School was out and it was getting John that much more hyped for the brilliant summer ahead. John stops on his heel and turns to ask a question, but has to lick the dryness out of a corner of his lip before he can get a word out, "Do you know what time Dave says he was going to stop by today???"

Karkat shifts the bags on one arm, and for a second he rubs away some dust that was kicked into his eye by the wind. The back of his hand then proceeds to wipe his brow while he’s at it. “Dave said he’d be around at—Fuck, I don’t know, 5? You know how his Bro gets on fucking Fridays, needs his makeup and shit done, and Dave does it for free. Fucking idiot doesn’t know that if you’re good at something, you don’t do it for fucking free.” Karkat is trailing behind watching John prance up ahead, heaving the bags up when they sag,  and almost runs right into him when John stops so suddenly and turns to squint down at him. Karkat makes this little yelp, quickly backpedaling and continuing his spiel while eyeing John’s broad and fucking _fatal_ shoulders.

“--And Jesus fucking Christ, John! Fucking watch where your sorry fucking quadruped ass is going—If I fucking die ‘cause your gargantuan shoulders _bumped_ into me, causing me to splay out and down onto the road, and get squished by a bus full a’ screeching wrigglers, I’ll fucking haunt you from now until the day you off yourself from suffering in guilt over my _untimely_ demise.” He takes a little breather, narrowing his eyes, because that little tirade started high and fast and got high _er_ and venomous way too fast. His cheeks tend to puff out when he needs to take in big breaths. Its pretty funny.  “Which, granted, won’t be a long interval of time, ‘cause I’ll make you fucking _drown_ in guilt. You hear? _Drown_.” The voice cracks really do put the icing on the cake. Dang John was really hungry if he was talking about cake.

John just chuckles and shifts his shoulders with all the stuff in his arms, he tries to fix his glasses back onto his nose properly. It doesn't really work. Ah well. Yeah, Dave might be late tonight, but it was going to be _awesome_ with all of this grub and movies they were going to watch .

"Karkat the only thing you need to drown in is this hella’ sweet mountain dew. Dude, I'm so glad we found Baja Blast. It is the literal best flavor. Like no matter how much Dave wants to say that it's Code Red. He just likes that it's red. It's all a part of his lame shtick." John smirks to himself knowing Dave will appreciate that he _did_ grab one Code Red. Just for his gloriously lazy ass. He nods to Karkat, looking down at his bags with a frown.

Karkat retorts, teeth clicking with the speed of his speech. “Mountain Dew is only the best thing you have ‘cause we’re not old enough to drink any fucking mulled wine. The glorious moment mulled wine touches your lips, you will forsake this second class shit in favour of the superior beverage, I promise you on the sanctity of my soul.” John doesn't see it, but his lips quirk at his own words.

"Dude you sure you don't want help to carry all that?? You are walking _waaaaaaaay_ too slow!!" The pastel blue t-shirt and those cargo shorts of his flabber about in the small gusts drifting by. Gosh it really is kinda windy today. He turns back on his heel and walks slow to keep up with Karkat's sloth-like pace. Or maybe John just has long legs. Heh.

Looking about at the trees, he sees they don't seem to be matching much with the breeze...huh, weird. His steps feel rather light though and he could totally help carry more if it meant getting to the house faster. The breeze was making the heat tolerable, but _gosh_ was John excited for the summer to begin. Can't begin officially without an extremely long movie night.

“Now listen here, assmango.” Karkat growls, barging right in, when an entire _fucking_ desert goes and fucking crawls into his eyes. “The only damn reason I’m going slow, is that my eyelashes aren’t the fucking size of my eyeballs like camels, and nor, was I specifically adapted to survive in the sahara, like a certain _squinty_ eyed _fuck_ right here. So get your fucking privilege out of my face, and let my jungle swinging set of testicles labour through wind and heat.” Pfft John’s only half Korean on his mom’s side, but born and raised in the States. Technically, Karkat says that John’s got  ‘No fucking clue exactly where _he’s_ from,’ but John’s best guess was the Indian sub-continent, although _where_ , John had no clue. John then asked if Karkat knew Hindu. He said yes, and that case was pretty much solved for John. Nevermind that Karkat knew just about every language that they came across.

John’s nasally giggle gets a look from Karkat, as if he is trying to spot the exact moment John will crumble into a manic pile of goop so that he can try and sell it as quality aspic happiness. John shakes his head, and backtracks a touch. "Pffft, I dunno, Karkat. Alcohol seems pretty darn gross. Like, it smells really weird." He crinkles his nose at just the thought. Alcohol didn't really appeal to him all that much. Like why did people _need_ drinks to make fools of themselves. Plus not being able to control what you did sounded... kinda scary. He mused Karkat would probably be a hilarious drunk, though. He grinned at the thought and couldn't contain himself when he sprinted forward a bit faster.

His steps just got lighter and lighter with his mood and he found himself quite a bit a ways from where Karkat was still trudging along. He seemed to be getting more grumpy with the newly found distance between them, but tonight John was gonna feed that kid with so much food and dumb puns he knew he would get Karkat to crack a smile at least _once_ by tonight. Karkat seemed to pause when he finally spotted where John had sprinted and, wow, Karkat already look like he was fighting amusement in that weird not-smile face he made. That burst of excitement was enough for John to jump up and--

_OW_. Blunt smack to the top of his head and he falls back on his heels and onto his bottom. Hard. Holy _ow._ What the _heck_ did he hit his head on… he somehow managed not to drop anything when he fell back on his behind. _Sweet_. John moves to rub his head and looks up to see a tree branch slightly askew. It almost looks broken off, but that's not right. This tree should have been... really far up...

His bum is on something hard and gnarled, he realizes, and the sound of swishing leaves is loudly roaring in his ears. He looks down at the branch under his butt and back up at the broken branch and then back down to the branch. Heh, um, wow. He is in a tree.

John lays the bags down on the branch and peers down. Maybe he blacked out or something. It _is_ actually kinda hot outside and for some god forsaken reason he just happened to decide to climb a tree? Like, would anyone do that in their right minds and not remember it? Maybe he’s not in his right mind. _Wow_ , wouldn’t it be just like him to lose his shit when he was around Karkat? This is _exactly_ what he was afraid of. He thought he was getting better. But wouldn’t it be just be like him to screw up this bad. Just wouldn’t it.

He looks back up the branch, but nope, it's still there. Maybe he’s dreaming. God, he hopes he’s dreaming.

Down below, Karkat stops, looks up, and gawks.

John’s a pretty distance from the ground and he grabs onto another branch to stabilize his feet, but he doesn’t feel like he really even needs to try to balance… in fact his feet aren't even touching the branch anymore. His weight is being pulled from the tree and its an imbalance of force that comes off startling and he tries to reach back for the branch. He notices he can move almost like he’s underwater and he finds himself panicking at the loss of balance. Flailing his arms was a bad idea. He only, ha, realizes this as he does just that and is nowhere closer to having some regular semblance of gravity.

Just like that he’s staring up at the top of the tree with his feet above his head. He’s floated up against the tree trunk now, but he feels himself drop closer to the ground. Madly he reaches to put his arms to catch himself, but with a loud woosh he _shoots_ out of the tree and tumbles in the air, trying to figure out which way the ground went. His stomach plummets as he somersaults farther up in the air. He tries to roll himself up it's kinda important to make sure not to fall on anything important now. Like his head. Or his back. Or his legs. Or anywhere, really, ha, ha, oh god. _Oh god._

He tried to get his arms across himself, maybe to hold himself together because he is kinda falling apart and, _somehow_ , he manages to stabilize himself only to have this _great_ view of the neighborhood illuminated by the sky. Not a cloud in the sky, the sun is still out, but he can see a few streets across from the park. It's just enough to take his breath away. The breeze clings to his side protectively and pushes against the folds of his clothes, and he tries to find the barest semblance of order here. He has either _really_ lost his mind or this is just some really bizarre dream. He really hopes it's the latter. He tries to look to see how far he went up and his glasses manage to completely slip off. His attempts to catch them in a frenzy do not, ha, ha, um, succeed. God he is _so stupid_.

His glasses plummet down to the ground and he doesn’t even hear them crack. Actually, John is actually surprised they took that long to fall considering the somersaults he was doing not that long ago. Then again he should have been more grateful. His view is blurry. Ha-ha. Ha. He can’t see shit. This is the worst nightmare ever. Why can’t he do anything right?

John’s initial fright is put on the very briefest of pauses when he hears the muffling of a voice. Distantly. He strains to hear better and that's when the wind tickles his ear and the sudden rush of audio is startling, but the tone is so calm. John has to take a moment to realize... that’s Karkat talking. Right?

His voice from down below, utterly and completely relaxed and cool despite everything that’s occurring, swirls around in John’s blood, thin and watery and dilute, “John. Go to the tree, can you do that for me? Go to the tree, and hold it, okay? Can you do that for me, John? Just go and hold it.”

John squints to look down but is having a hard time seeing him. Hell he can’t see much of anything. Oh right he dropped his glasses. His vision washes his surroundings in blurred colors and he feels the pricks of hot tears as if the obvious _lack_ of glasses wasn’t ruining his vision enough already.God he couldn’t do _anything_ right.

“Please, whatever you decide to do, go to that tree and hold onto it first. Can you do that, for me? For me, Karkat?” The tone of repeating was _grounding_ , John realized dully, just like his Dad or Grace does for him when he’s having a panic attack. How ironic because John wanted nothing, but the ground right about now. Of course he couldn’t help but notice that if this was a dream then he couldn’t even save himself. He couldn’t ever do anything right. Always had to count on someone else to take care of him. If he has lost his mind he can at least count on Karkat to choose a cozy hospital to send him. Heck, maybe he will just live out the rest of his life in his head with super powers. Cool!!

God, he's so pathetic.

Looking down, again, John can only really make out the green blur below him. It’s massive enough that he recalls the field that was below him. It all looks pretty green from here. He definitely has no idea where that tree is supposed to be.  Oh god, haha, ha, there’s so much green, so much rustling. He starts giggling. Oh god he is so high up and he can't even tell how to get down to a tree. He keeps in mind Karkat's calm tone and tries to swallow down the hiccuping while he tries to lean his weight downward. It’s not like he can just walk down some stairs.

His harsh breathing is starting to make the back of his throat sore. The sun is still out and the breeze ruffles his hair once more. Normally this would be really cool. He used to joke about wanting to fly. Right now though, he just wants to cling onto the ground, onto Karkat, and feel nothing but the rumble of his chest and see nothing but the tenderness in his eyes. The warm tears finally roll over his cheeks as he starts to descend. It’s a stilted descent, but he’s getting down, slowly. He feels overly sensitive to each beat of his heart and it's making his teeth ache. With every breath his sinuses wheeze. It's too overwhelming. The blue above him seemed so welcoming before and he can’t help but to feel so gutturally _bad_. Like he declined his invitation. Pathetic and rude. Wow he is just on a roll today.

The wind whips around him, but softer. He tries to keep his eyes on the green that just gets bigger and bigger until his stomach starts to feel a little more normal and he peers around trying to locate where Karkat and that damn tree went. The tears have stopped at some point, alongside his snot, but he's still hiccuping and everything's so very out of focus. His feet still haven't touched the ground and it's unsettling, but he's almost afraid of touching solid ground now, because, ha, ha,  what if he has gone crazy what if, _what if--_

He just wants to wake up from this dream.

“John. John, listen to me!” Karkat’s voice is so much louder now, the calm having begun to ooze away. “Focus on getting down! You’re so close, the ground is so close, it’s nice, it’s safe, it’ll envelop you and you’ll be safe. I’m down here, John. Me, Karkat, I’m here, and I have food, and drinks, and I’ve a got this big ol’ knuckle sandwich for you when you finally land back on planet Earth. Come on down, slowly, okay? Come on, the ground is right here, it’s--“ And as John laughs at Karkat’s words, the blithering had done its job, and gosh, John really loves his best friend. Because, honestly, who else would say something like that right now?

This isn't really funny. Yet he continues to smile like there is no tomorrow. ( _There might not be, for you._ )  His mouth hurts. Karkat comes into focus, his normally brown skin a sheen of crimson, but just barely calm. Although it looks like he can’t breathe. Ha. Breathe. _Breathe._ Oh… he’s trying to blink back the crusting wetness, but it's too late. His feet still don’t yet touch the ground and he can’t feel himself moving anymore. Guess he broke it.

There’s a marginal tightness in Karkat’s voice that John can’t explain, but before he can think much about it the the wind is knocked out of him.

 

* * *

 

 

It is hot as balls. Although, that doesn't exactly feel accurate considering Dave has survived the heat of a thousand pissed off suns in the glorious eighth circle of hell, also known as Houston. But it is still really friggin’ warm. It’s warm enough he can forego putting a shirt on. He's way to dark to worry about burns, anyhow. Too rich of a chocolate for the licks of that sun to tug him down with all of the Joes and Janes down below.

When was the last time he had a good old fashioned strife? Like really stretched his muscles,  instead of flailing in John’s and Kitkat’s company. School is making him complacent and it’s kinda unnerving. There’s been something niggling the back of his mind, recently. Like an oncoming storm, gathering up, making his nostrils dry and their walls paper-thin. Talk about awkward nosebleeds, but seriously he has gotta stay on his toes. Prima ballerina reporting for duty, sir.

Today feels tense even without the out of place humidity. Stretching his back he moves about his room languidly. While usually he would probably freak the fuck out in paranoia with the door closed in his own privacy, Bro has been rather quiet this afternoon. Unusually so. Guess he’s not running any drills today then. But Dave’s brother should be home by now, but here Dave is... Bro-less and no more anxious than if little Cal was lounging on his bed, giving him those eerie ‘fuck me’ eyes that Bro insists on heeding with his weird sex toys. God. Damn. Puppets. He moves to grab the sword behind the soundboard and slowly unsheathes it, quietly watching how the light catches its side. Of course, just as he’s getting his Mulan on, _that's_ when his phone decides to give him a fucking heart attack. In a horrible defensive reflex he knocks over the tower of CDs by his computer and almost loses his balance with sword in hand. Jeez, talk about being on _edge_.

He sighs and rubs his temples before reaching over and flipping open the phone. Fuck what people say. Flip phones are still the way of the future. And shit... code red. Or, heh, you could say code blue.

Oh, but _shit_. Karkles has got to be having a fucking meltdown to cause the Chernobyl explosion to glower in envy. And do that tapping thing, with the feet, with no fucking rhythm too, what a goddamn disgrace, Soviet Russia. Dave believed you were better than this. Okay, okay, he quickly just texts back 'location?' and sheathes the sword in his hand before he's out the fire escape, leaving his room with the usual finesse. Damn he hopes Bro was actually watching this time, ‘cause fuck that was a wasted exit.

A quick pause to look down at his phone he doesn't hesitate to hold his hand out as if holding down a wall from crumbling to the ground. Usually if he holds hard enough he can keep time frozen for five minutes. That's the longest he's been able to hold it before it starts to hurt. And not a tickle, but two full blown spikes through the _goddamn_ chest. It starts to burn as if he’s been fucking stabbed and then he'll lose his ability to breathe and pass out. The last time he tried that around Karkat he woke with a bruised cheek and a hysteric lil’ Karkles at the ready with a lecture. Yikes.

They’re near John's place so he skips past frozen traffic and flash steps onto the field. Just in time too, he feels his fingertips tense with the strain and so he lets it slip through his fingers as he approaches the only two on the field. It's strangely quiet out. People with actual brain cells are probably avoiding the sun and heat.

Dave approaches silently and sees John before anything else. Kinda, um, hard not to notice. The kid is still taller than him by 3 inches and at least 8 inches wider. Dave's not short by any stretch of the imagination, but his 5'10 stature ain't much when he's still too lean to count much for mass.

Oh, and also: Can’t forget to add this, folks. John is also _floating_. Like, that is a thing now. God damn. Well, no one said that Dave’s taste in friends was like that of the normal human pal. Karkat is concentrating solely on John and trying to talk him down by the look of it. Dave is still a few yards away when glorious, glorious inspiration hits him. John is only a few feet off the ground and Dave _did_ always want to try out for basketball. He speeds up his approach, getting his toes ready and... body-slam. John is welcome to the Jam.

Dave manages to knock them both pretty harshly onto the ground. John, coughing out dirt, pushes himself off the field with both hands.Dave rolls over him and goes into an lounging position, but John is too busy tasting the fruits of the earth to really care right now. When John finally looks up, he just keep _blinking_ , and squinting...and, **_oh lord_** , without his glasses he looks really fucking weird. When comprehension dawns on that little mug, Dave chirps,  "Sup, Edwards??"

John shoves him away. Rude butt. John gets on his knees and is wobbly onto his feet, looking at Karkat who gives him a fond look back and a death glare for Dave and---Oh dear god, Karkat, no. No tearing up. God Dammit, Karkat. You had one job, and you fucking blew it. Ah jeez. Jesus, he looks so miserable. His eyes go all crinkly and his lips wobbly and he’s got this flush that only comes around if he’s _really_ fucking pissed. Dave hasn’t seen Karkat ever cry. Ever. Which is nothing strange. Like, what’s the opposite of wearing your feelings on your arm?? Wearing it on your leg?? Whatever it is, Karkat fucking trademarked it.

Both eyebrows reclining on John’s brows draw together and his mouth opens, no words coming out. Just a loud huff of breath. Karkat, in the meantime, is looking angsty, moving back and forth and quite clearly _just_ withholding the urge to hug the shit out of his pal. He’s looking over John as if he’s looking for a giant hole in his back, and as soon as he concludes he sees nothing, he scrambles down to hold John close. Dave (who’s in the way) be damned. Karkat’s hands still pat over his back, looking for any wounds, despite himself, but he’s holding the boy close, hands gripping harder and more frantically by the second, and he’s mumbling shit under his breath. None of which Dave can’t ever hope to fucking hear no matter how much he strains himself, and as Karkat presses himself fucking _flat_ against John, Dave can hear a fucking little wheeze coming from the guy. John is being killed by gay right here and now. There are these little sniffles coming from the smallest of their crew that make it obvious that Karkat’s little display of emotion is going far more forward than some wetness in the corners of his eyes. Fucking rest in peace, nerd, fucking rest in goddamn peace.

“ _Jesus fucking Christ John_ , Jesus fucking _Christ_.” Karkat’s, voice is raw and it's as if his trachea is being smushed against a cheese grater. “You always have to be a fucking piece of shit, don’t you?”

Right here, on the floor, Dave contemplates a helluva lot of things. Kinda what one has to do when a pal starts awkwardly blubbering. He means---Here he came in to be the knight in shining armor and he gets tossed aside like leftovers from last month's tuna casserole. That casserole wasn't that pretty to look at in her prime, but damn if she doesn't resemble the bastard child of an Eldritch abomination now. For just a second he contemplates the last time he cleaned out his own fridge. Honestly though, he could stand to see a wee bit more gratitude.

But with one look over the two dorks the unashamed care and affection rolling off Karkat is really all the thanks he needs. That kid worries him. A lot. Yeah sure there's the whole I guess we are the X-Men and kinda suck at it because they don't have a bald man to string them along. But the kid has other secrets. He won't pry. Its wrong to and he knows what it's like to keep things on the down low, and the feeling is almost kindred. He would never let the lil’ troll know that, but he sees how he worries for John. It's unhealthy, because, really, if anyone needs to be watched its Vantas, himself.

Well might as well... He dusts himself off from the maneuver and rolls his shoulders a bit before readjusting his pants and hilt where the sword rests in its sheath. Really a belt loop shouldn't be so glamorized.

Oh God. The mindless mumbling into John’s shirt is a bit too much, as if Karkat hasn’t seen him in years or he has come back from the grave, and John is a little too quiet. ( _Oh god was that just a kiss to John’s forehead, god, oh god, you didn’t think you can ever be this gay and you’ve **tried.** )_ Distraction. Dave looks over his shoulder where he knows he saw a bunch of junk littering the grass. _Perfect._ "I guess this means we're ordering out, tonight??" Bam. Dave is now officially Jar Jar Binks. Or hell, maybe he’s had that title for fucking years, but today it became goddamn official.

Dave gets up, just in time to see John pet the top of Karkat's unruly locks. Barf.  Which while being an untamed jungle was still not nearly as thick or rough as Dave's. Dave can say this with all the self-depreciation to fill the oral cavities of a small village. But what’s important here is that Karkat’s wrong, and he’s right. Yeah.

Karkat’s breath goes funny, just as he sinks into the junction between John’s neck and shoulder. Looking like a little pet pig trying to hide in every nook and cranny he can find. Karkat has to stand on his tiptoes, and Dave snorts.

When his question _finally_ goes to the one guy in here who’s looking relatively sane, John’s eyes stop doing that creepy blank thing, and he keeps his arms around Karkat as he looks over at Dave, blinking. "Really??? That's what's on your mind right now???" Ah, ah, ah, Dave can see it. The barest fucking baby of a smile on those thin af lips. Dave, aka Jar Jar Binks, has done it again.

The mood is starting to shift, and Karkat’s head rises. His hands come up, probably to touch and pet more, but with a frown he gives up and slinks away to rub at his own nose and eyes with the back of his hand. He looks awkward, and once the contents of an entire lake are on his hand, he speaks up, voice still horribly hoarse. “Y-You’re a piece of shit, Dave.” Karkat gargles, his voice cracking right at the beginning, with awful wet sounds. He clears his throat, once, and twice, glancing back at the bags as well. Alas.

“Some raccoons will have the time of their lives, though.” Dave pipes up, too cheerily. He’s all but ignored. Right, right, he’s a third wheel. Tricycles are fucking cool anyway.

“J-John—What, what happened there, like—“ Karkat swallows and his fingers  are looking twitchy. God. He wants to go back and start hugging again, doesn’t he? “You didn’t dream this up. That really happened. But it’s also—“ He decides to change his tone, and set his arms on his waist, straightening his back. A slap of hair to his face destroys his image, and he looks around briefly as if he’d lost something.

God. Dave doesn’t think this will go over well, but Karkat continues, “Right, okay, listen up, _it’s_ also quite dangerous but special, y’know? I mean. I mean--You can. Guess that, with--..” Okay this is both awkward and serious all at the same time, and, really, Karkat looks like he regrets ever speaking as well as being born, and now he has become a small thing, hunched over and into himself, looking anywhere but at them.

John looks like just saw hell freeze over, ‘cause, honestly, how many times a year do they see Karkat at a loss for words?

Watching Karkat trip over his words so much is making Dave relive the Deja-Vu of the moment. His interrogation to Karkat, back in that Wendy’s bathroom, hadn't really revealed much. And yes it did rub him the wrong way, but it wasn't as if Vantas was the most open with things. He was always vocal, but always like to redirect the subject. Yet... Dave trusted this lil’ motherfucker. When push came to shove he hoped he would spill. When ya know, the chips were down and answers were kinda necessary. ‘Til then he was keeping an eye on him.

Either way Dave can't watch this stumble any further and moves to rest both his arms atop Karkat's head while leaning his weight to try to match Johns height.

And then Karkat makes this low tea kettle noise and Dave is so _very_ aware that his time on this fluffy little head will be brief. Even as Karkat noisily swallows, the low noise persists, gradually moving down into his throat and becoming this grumble-growl. Its funny how the shortie works. He is basically this little ball etched with rancorous disapproval that’s mussed up and tolerant only because of some heavenly, blessèd reason.

"John." Yeah. Used his first name. John seems to be paying attention to the sudden closeness of Dave and he takes a moment to blink back. Now really the best way to break a reality shattering epiphany was with a lil’ old fashion serious talk. This is ‘serious steven’ here. Locked and loaded. Dave tightens his left grip into a fist and brings it up from Karkat-The-Arm-Rest and lets it waver above patiently. "Bro. You can fly and I'm kinda jelly." Not even kinda. It's a full blooded jelly from the snootiest corner of the dessert tray. But it is also hella’ rad and John best return this fist bump. Dave's arm is getting tired. Missing the soft comfort that is Karkat's hair.

John snorts. "I also almost died, numbnuts!" He still reaches over and bumps Dave's fist. _That’s my man_. Knows the bro-code. Never leave a bro hanging.

Karkat removes himself as armrest material and stands on his tip toes, “Yeah Dave, he almost _died_.” Karkat parrots this sharply, right into Dave’s ear. Ew. Dave felt some spit touch the spiral of his ear. This is just the best day, isn’t it?? What other kind of bodily fluids will Dave’s senses be able to experience before the end of the day?? Dave attempts to put him in place as his arms take back their faithful throne.

Then John’s expression twists up, Karkat freezes, and Dave doesn’t react. "Wait..." John turns to look at Karkat below Dave. Uh-oh. "Are you saying you knew about this???" He’s looking hurt, even if he does tries to fix his expression up, it’s still so very visible on that mug of his. John’s the one to carry his heart on his sleeve, unlike Karkat, who has that whole leg and feeling shtick.

Vantas is emitting so much anger at Dave right now that he’s trembling.  Karkat spasms, right under Dave, his first act of physical rebellion as he rallies his troops, and plots to find the cracks in Dave’s defenses. He purses his lips, and, after doing the wise thing and _thinking_ before he speaks, he does, voice quieter than it could have been, still twitchy and displeased under Dave. “Well, we wouldn’t know you’d fly, but we knew you’d fucking got something to do with wind and shit—You’ve been showing signs of, _well_ , developing powers for the past year.”

“Powers we—“ He pauses, swallowing. Right. _We_. That’s still weird to Dave. “—Also seem to have, although, of a different area than you. Want to give a fucking demonstration, _Dave_ , as you _fuck_ off from my womanly shoulders??”

Dave adopts melodrama to his face. Truly the visage of hurt betrayal. "Vantas. You wound me. I would never pick anything, but the manliest shoulders to be my arm rest. What do you think this is K-Mart?? Nah man. I only accept the finest of taste. Walmart will always have my heart." He swoons dramatically. Damn where is his Oscar? It will be placed lovingly beside his Grammys. He's gonna have to get a case if his talent continues to get out of hand. Truly his attempt at movement to is mostly to avoid the blowup range that is their tiny ticking time bomb. It's a short step back. Eh, good enough.

Karkat looks ready to fight him. Honestly, that’s how the kid looks all the time.“I have never, in my 15 years, met anyone remotely close to idiocy given breath and body, except you, Dave Strider. Each day, your actions vex me and haunt me, in my darkest hours, where nothing else but the terrors of my oh-so-tragic past can reach me. I think of what kind of biological mutation spawned you, and each night, I pray you _never_ reproduce in order to continue it.” Karkat deadpans, in a surprisingly venomless tone, taking a shaky little breath, and shifting. Huh. He’s looking vaguely uncomfortable. Time to change that.

"I’m honoured.” Dave is. “But, I am always a sucker for audiences." Dave’s smugness laces into his tone, and he takes a small curtsy. Then stretches out his left arm and flexes his shoulder for good measure. It's only a slight flare for drama, but _oh_ is it satisfying. He pulls down on the flow of the air and feels the day still around him. The air always feels a bit stale. Like an awkward vacuum where natural forces just kinda ollie-out of existence for a bit. But now, Dave decides to pester the pesterner. Pesterer. Uh. Pester the prankster. Jeez he’s got to work on that.

He kneels down to tie John's shoes together and, because misery loves company and also ‘cause Karkat is wearing flip flops... (ugh, Dave needs to take this kid shopping) he just hoists the kid over his right shoulder and returns to his original spot. He lifts his left arm out once more and lets the arm drop. The flow snaps back all at once. Not even five minutes. Just a minute and thirty-nine seconds. Feels good to show off though. He smirks to himself and looks John's way excitingly.

John eyes flutter for a second, startled by the sudden appearance of Dave’s new found Vantas booty and loses his balance. Although John does manage to stick the landing on his own booty. Nice. John grunts and blinks dumbly at his shoes. Karkat goes _all_ hissy and squirmy over Dave’s shoulder. Positively feral,  he is kicking and squawking out sounds that are more fitting of a reluctantly captured wild animal than a (somewhat) civilized person. He is trying to get back to the ground, but Dave shows no signs of budging with his trophy (wife). Well. Time to do like the Mongols and start building up his harem with his captured (literal) booty. (Hot damn are his ~~parenthesis~~ inner monologues on fire today.)

John blearily looks up. "You... you can move really fast???" John smiles. Goddamn is he adorable. "Dude. Do that again, that was _awesome_. Wait no. Don't tie my shoes together again because that would be so dumb but..." Dave's realizes his own shades are slightly askew damn thats gonna cost him some points. But, John looks so very happy though. Almost like he is this close to pissing himself. He looks like an elderly hound being called a pup and given some sweet-ass doggy treats and TLC. And then he gets this mischievous look in his eye. _Uh-oh_. "Oh my god. Think of the pranking possibilities. How fast can you go???...Wait you both have stuff??" He's trying to get Karkat's attention now. Dave sighs and turns around so he can face Karkat's face. Talking to kicking feet doesn't get much done.

A flip-flop falls to the ground. Karkat goes limp and takes a deep breath. Dave is so proud of him for remembering how to breathe, “..John, Dave can’t go ‘super fast’, as you eloquently put it, he can manipulate time.” He licks his lips, clearly thinking, while staring up at the sky. Dave can’t help, but jostle Karkat. Hot damn is the shortie all muscles, if you know where to put your fingers. And yet, Karkat pretty much doesn’t eat? What the fuck is this bullshit?? A goddamn Deux Ex Machina if he’s ever seen one. “I..Yeah, I’ve got something too.” He says, in a quiet voice, unsure, uneasy, ten other different times of words with the prefix ‘un’. Aw jeez. Don’t cry again, buddy.

In fact, Karkat, the conniving little shit, has been planning the opposite.

Dave is too busy reveling in his spoils and his grip on the squirming rumpus slackens. Big mistake. Karkat hits Dave’s solar plexus with a foot, claws onto whatever bare skin he can find, and pushes Dave’s chest with all of his weight on his knee. In the nick of time, Dave tenses to take the brunt of the hit, but still stumbles back when Vantas vaults off him. Bastard couldn't have fucking warned him. At least if he did leave a mark it wouldn't show too easily. Dave was _so_ getting his revenge later.

(Later, when John would be remembering this story, fingers tapping out a rhythmless beat, the crackling of flame and the wail of silence all he can hear, John would fondly recall Dave's face of 'I done goofed' and that glorious shit-eating terror.)

Dave squares his jaw and fixes his shades to better shield from the sun, ignoring the bruising pain. Damn, it was still decently bright out. Also. Damn, could Karkat fucking kick. Looking over at Karkat he decides to watch him squirm. The kid asked him to deliver and Dave did. With spectacular suave. Now it was lil’ Karkles time to shine. Dave offered a dismissive grunt and crossed his arms in expectation.

"Welp since you so rudely denied your gratuitous ebony throne, this is all you dude." He's not pouting. Striders don't pout. But he does keep his eyes focused right above Karkat's shoulder over at John. "But ye’. I pause time which just makes flash-stepping a thing. Though it's not like I really knew what it was at first. Vantas here actually explained it to me better when I accidentally paused time..." He trails off purposely. Vantas still has explaining to do.

John eyes are actually excited if not for his worry lines with his brows, but slowly he looks like he is getting it. John’s hands tighten into balls before he excitedly interjects, "It kinda just sounds like superpowers. Really weirdly specific powers, but, eh." He is listening to Dave, but he's staring at Karkat. _Gay._ Or, alternatively, John’s trying to come to terms with the fact that his best friend has kept quiet on such an important matter like _superpowers_ for so many years. That too. _Hoo boy, Dave ain’t looking forward to their fights after this._

"So wait. I have wind. Whatever that means." The wind, as if reacting to these words, picks up and bristles John’s hair. The kid twitches for a moment and Dave isn’t sure it was a reflex to the sudden chill, but he doesn’t break his stride and continues talking at Karkat, "Dave has time stopping stuffs. You still haven't answered yet, though???" He's biting his bottom lip in anticipation, shifting on the spot. It's kind of funny with the fact he is still trying to squint enough to actually see his friends that are like three feet away from him, but he’s concentrating on Karkat’s direction so he can at least probably see something.

Dave can’t help but do the same. He’s only seen Karkat’s power in the smallest demonstrations before, and all it’s ever been was a few sparks, a blink of an eye, and it was done.

 

* * *

 

It’s his turn. It’s Karkat’s turn to pull all of his shit out. His turn to show off, and then he’ll explain, with his mouth running and frothing with so many lies. Lies that will be riddling his words into swiss cheese that it’s enough to make anyone dumb. Not to fucking mention numb. The light in his eyes and his fingertips will all be dyed a bright crimson, ‘cause each little lie he says is one little blade into his being. All that he does now-a-days feels like a lie. Walking with John and Dave, in or out of school feels like a lie. Raising his hand in class, or slumping down and becoming invisible feels like a lie. Sleeping in his bed, his fingers drumming a beat he no longer feels like he can remember. A lie. And that’s because it is. Karkat is just one big, fat, tangible fallacy wrapped up in self-deprecation and cowardice, as if he’s some dish to be delivered at a gourmet’s table. 

_(Now’s not the time to drown in putrid self-pity.)_

“Right.” He says, glancing at his fingers. He wiggles them for a moment, and turns over his hand to look at all of its sides. His stomach settles heavily. He blinks quick for a few moments. “Well, Dave’s right—I do know more about this shit—Something about family lines, long legacy, shit like that, been preached to me since I could fucking understand what ‘power’ meant.” Lies. In his innermost crux, under the layers of denial and emotions and faint memories and beliefs, the lies no longer affect him. Just like the bites of nettles delivered so many times, one feels nothing but the death of flesh. It’s the same thing, and _yet._ ( _You’re alive, you’re alive, You are alive._ )

“What I’ve got—“ And, here comes the trick. The something that will rouse the crowds and have them clambering for an encore. Or for his blood.  He cringes at the thought of what’s to come—He didn’t make nearly this big of a show to Dave when he explained it, a mere nip of his skin and that’s it. But not now, when he’s really got two people to demonstrate his abilities to.

Karkat places his left index finger in between his teeth—And, it’s faintly dirty, _ew_. He takes a quick breath, before erasing his fears and thoughts, focusing on the task at hand, however brief, and— Biting down. There’s a quiet meaty squelch with a harsh crack. The metallic taste of blood fills his mouth, and the feeling of meaty tissue and bone shards against his tongue mush up against his gums and teeth.

It’s remarkably easy to bite through a finger, he’s learned throughout his years. It’s like a particularly soggy carrot with a tough core. He pulls out the severed length of his finger from the inside of his mouth, as well as his stub that’s at his second knuckle. He parades it for a grand total of a few seconds. Showing off _all_ of the disgusting meaty parts, the pinking bone and the spongy material inside, the ivory tendons, and the flailing nerves, as well as the tissue that’s livelily mending together in the open center stub. And then he sticks the end of the finger back on before his body can generate a new finger.

If he didn’t, he’d have to leave this one in the grass for either a gull to eat, or some unlucky kid to find and then give to his horrified mommy.

It’s loose for about 5 seconds, making him hold it down, before, tentatively, he can _feel_ a line of muscle connect back to the severed finger. The others start to attach as well and he lets go. Then after a few sinews, the blood vessels, and nerves knit together. If you leaned in close, close enough to smell the iron and the flint, you’d be able to hear a faint sound, like the popping of Rice Krispies in your mouth.

And then the skin heals over the wound, leaving not a single trace behind. He wiggles his finger again, and feels a minor twinge, but it moves just as it would have done before he’d bitten it off.

Karkat wipes away some of his blood that had cooled down on his lips and the tip of his nose. He throws up a shy thumbs up. His tongue continues exploring his mouth and he finds another band of iron-tasting blood in his mouth, just behind a tooth, and he shudders.

“—Is healing.” He concludes. Perhaps John and Dave had forgotten where he had begun, with that demonstration. Oh well. It’s rather obvious, right? “I can heal myself easily, really fucking easily, I can heal gaping wounds, cut off body parts, holes in my body, and things like bruises and scratches practically don’t affect me. And I recently found I can do that to other people.” He pauses. He’s telling new information now, even to Dave. “It’s going to evolve, however, just like Dave’s is now, and how yours will, John.” He says, dropping his hands to his sides. There’s still a spot of blood he missed on his lower cheek.

“I don’t know exactly what _my_ thing is—Abilities like our’s are all in this pantheon of 12, um, aspects. Dave is Time, you’re Breath. I’m either Life, or Blood.” He blinks, and moves all his fingers in unison. All of them, in perfect working condition.“It’s an extremely rare ability, what we’ve got, with only up to an extremely limited amount of people on the planet ever having abilities of this kind, at the same time.”

God-fucking-dammit, though. Karkat fucking _hated_ demonstrations of his own powers, they always _hurt_ , and were goddamn unpleasant in many different fucking ways. Why couldn’t he have been the fucking… Knight of Flowers, huh? Why couldn’t he have gotten the ability to make roses sing?

Karkat purses his lips, and, once a-fucking- _gain_ , shares something he _shouldn’t._ “The fact that three of us—All together in one spot, same age, living in the same area, is a statistical anomaly. I mean—Seven billion people out in this big ol’ fucking world, and what are the fucking odds that three of us would have ended up in some shitty suburb of Washington DC, huh?”

 

* * *

 

Dave has officially left the building. Holy mother of fucking chicken nuggets. The kid couldn't have chosen a more inappropriate way to display his abilities. Not even if he had walked in front of a car, commenced to make a pancake out of himself and continue this conversation in that same fucking nonchalant tone. Actually, Dave is pretty sure he would have had an actual goddamn heart attack if Vantas tried anything that drastic. Just laying on the ground, holding his chest, watching Karkat stitch his mangled limbs back together.

Dave makes a quick peek at John and the kid is unmoving. Karkat was standing pretty close to John, so he actually probably saw that whole ordeal in at least 360p. The color from John’s face is so drained it’s actually starting to worry Dave a bit.  John's eyebrows scrunch up together and he gulps so harshly, Dave takes a reflexive step back, wary he might be in the splash zone. John’s Adam's Apple bobs a bit, but he keeps it down. What a trooper.  Dave's ears perk up at the word evolve. Like what hold time for longer? There's not much Dave can do with time unless he gets himself a delorean or somethin’. Actually a Delorean sounds fucking rad, but he can't imagine how he could do anything but pause. John's eyebrows don't stop furrowing, but takes a step and wipes off a speck of blood off Karkat’s face. The wind has stilled around them. Not a single breeze to move the grass or tousle their hair. The heat was back to being stifling. Nice.

"Huh. Well after that episode that managed overshadow my performance... I'm thinkin’ now to ask the question that is on everybody's minds." He's not liking this. If there is other people involved than who are they? How do they find them? Why, of all people, did Dave fucking Strider get saddled with this business? He uncrossed his arms at some point. Didn't really notice until his left hand was resting on the sword and his right in his pocket. New information is good. This still meant more questions than answers. "Vantas. How did you happen to come across all of this?" He feels he succeeds in being stoic, but his Converse twitch in the grass and his own toes curl up in suspense.

 

* * *

 

Karkat blinks when John suddenly comes closer, and, for a second, cold fear curls in his heart, and he goes still, because there’s been a _million_ different reactions to this, all wildly different from each other, some heart breaking, and some sickening, and _some_ —Oh. John’s wiped off some blood. He’s looking particularly _pale_ , though. He is looking at that smear of life fluid on his fist with a blend of revulsion and terror. Poor kid—Sadly, Karkat doesn’t have any napkins on him, so he can’t do anything about that spot of red—A kind of red that’s just a tint brighter than normal human blood, only readily visible if one has this in mind when looking at a sample.

They’re both contemplating, and quiet, as Karkat would expect them to be. John’s still shocked, in a way, his mind is most likely starting to buzz with all of this new information. The wind has stilled, most likely because of him registering the severity of the situation. Both of these kids both have a firm control over their ‘super power’, but they _must_ make their way up to consciously use it. Some part of their brain controls that, a part that Karkat doesn’t want to name, a part that must house the _originals_. But he won’t ever think or say that, because that’s undermining all of them, making all of them sound like copies while they actually _aren’t_ , but that part of them knows all of this, remembers all of this. It must merely be tapped into.

Karkat doesn’t look at any of them again. Doesn’t have the ability to, anymore, not really.

“That’s where it all goes blurred. I know this because of—Of my d-dad.” Ah, there, the mythical father that _no-one_ has ever fucking seen. He shuffles his feet. The lies are really stifling. “And his books. He doesn’t have an aspect, but his father before him did. It’s never a genetic ability, though, aspects choose random people in random places, it’s just---The Vantases in the past were a clan of people quite open to this sort of thing, and as pl—Wielders gradually intermarried with the family, bringing new data, their own information and...Everything else, we’ve known more and more. We’ve been around for a while, around to only document 13 individuals, with 11 different abilities.”

Now, for something more true. “Wielders have, in a lot of cases, been the people at the turn of the world, around to jump-start big changes, or to influence the right people to make those changes. For a lot of these times, people who would later join the Vantas clan, often accompanied those Wielders, even if they weren’t ones themselves.” God, what time was this that he’s used ‘Vantas clan’? The 45th? 56th? God, who fucking knows. “So.” He shrugs. “That’s why, I guess.” He hasn’t cursed in all of that, and, oddly enough, he doesn’t feel like he could. He feels slightly..hollow now.

 

* * *

 

Huh. Red. Snapping back to the moment John shakes his head and runs his other hand through his hair before taking in a deep breath. And then another. Briefly, Dave looks peeved, but John didn’t even see it, nor did he see him pulling himself into something calm and casual and not at all ticked off. He does hear Dave rattle,"Knew I was friends with you nerds for a reason." And then Dave leans back on the balls of his feet and rotates his weight to his toes in a rocking, bored expression. "Ya know we should probably stop talking about this in the most public area in the 'shitty s’burb in Washington' and actually move our keisters indoors."

Dave’s stomach growls, and he looks down at it, patting the sorry thing with all of the gentleness of a person petting a sick housecat. "Let’s get, uh, I'unno... something to eat since it's almost supper, or something??"

Dave's remark brings about his old giddy excitement. John just wanted a few nights to not think, but now he guessed he had other stuff to distract himself with now, but hey. He wasn’t crazy. Although he can’t shake the feeling he _did_ manage to scare Karkat pretty badly. Damnit he needed to really learn how to use this thing if he didn’t want to be a bother. Both of his friends seems cool as a cucumber when it came to using their abilities and here John had almost gotten himself killed. But hey, at least he still had his friends.

It was funny to think that this all was just meant to be. Written in the hecking stars like one of Karkat's movies. Except, uh. With no kissing or stuff. Also featuring two other guys. Heh. Yeah.

He can't stop the sudden inspiration to hug Karkat and he's got both his arms around his best friend when he hears Dave's stomach whine once more. He's chuckling and it feels comfortable again. It feels like a massive weight has been lifted from Karkat’s shoulders when John wraps his arms around him, the kid slumping and sighing and holding loosely, his arms enveloping John’s ribs. Yeah, it felt great to be grounded again.John’s chin came to res upon the mess that once was Karkat’s hair. The elastic had become loose and fucked off at some point and, yeah, Karkat needed a haircut. Pulling away quickly he looks over at Dave and then to Karkat. "Okay, yeah. Let's go get food." He only takes one moment to despair over the lost glory that was their previous spoils. Not like he can even decipher what the colorful mess even looks like from where they are standing. He begins to walk in a direction, but Dave grabs his shoulder to redirect his steps.

"John. The corner store is that way." His amused tone gives away his cool kid demeanor. John really will need to scavenge for his old pair of glasses at home. It's what Karkat called a violent shade of spew, but he would rather have neon green glasses than no glasses at all.

 

* * *

 

 

John. Dave. _Both_ of them are here, and won’t go, not now. Not now, that he can feel their warmth, can hear their breathing, can sense the light of their presence forever tucked into his chest, and knows in every way that they’re _alive_. Him and John came apart soon, and without a single fuss, not even from him.

Ah, yes. _Sustenance_ , something that would be _quite_ appreciated in this moment. Karkat cannot help but muse, “Of course. The shift from world changing powers to grub is fucking natural as shit, now ain’t it, you fucking gluttonous dog?” Still, he’s hungry as a goddamn fuck as well, and rubs his belly as John leads on with no abandon. He notices John’s mistake just as soon as Dave, and frowns—Well, honestly, Karkat shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that John’s still dazed, and confused, and muddled, and he stays close, at some point, a hand reaching out to rest on the small of the kid’s back.

(Or, you know, maybe it could be that John can’t fucking _see_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might take a very long to arrive, partly because it's going to be done over the holidays, partly because the raw text (straight from the rp, all of the countless disconnects and lost connections gone) makes up 40 shitlicking pages. Pray for us. Please. -Cheese
> 
> I dunno after the semester is over I will be jumping on this pretty hardcore. Please leave questions and comments. Tell us we suck, Dave is a huge dork, or just say hi. It is much appreciated. -Bam


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